Okay, are you familiar with the game "two truths and a lie"? Really a pretty boring game, but it serves its purpose. The rules are simple: out of three given statements, two are true, and one is a lie (coincidentally, the description of the game is quite similar to its name). The object of this game is to guess which statement is a lie. Ready? Here they are:
1. My Sprachkurs professor is incompetent.
2. I am anxious to explore the continent and restless to finish the semester.
3. The weather here sucks.
Mkay, well, the first two are true - Sprachkurs A is so frustrating! The professor is incompetent and often rude to students. She gives us worksheets without explaining the grammar that it practices, and then gets angry when students don't provide the correct answers. She is impatient to students who take longer to complete tests and often mishears (or rather ignores) correct responses and says that they are false. When the students are rather secure that their answer is indeed correct, some push the topic and others just tune out for the rest of the class period. To those who confront her, the professor is confrontational and defensive when forced to admit that she misheard. For the most part, all my other classes are great, but this class has, on many occasions, caused me to question whether it's really worth keeping the German major if I have to take this class. Hopefully the professor will develop competence as a teacher in the next few months, or perhaps I can find a way to switch to Sprachkurs B (which is taught by Christel, whom I adore AND who can teach very well).
Additionally, I cannot wait for the semester break - two months to travel. I want to go everywhere; my Wanderlust is insatiable. As it is, I'm trying to keep myself satisfied by taking walks (and photos) in the Englischer Garten and cooking spicy food (that is to say, pretending I'm in a culture that knows what to do with chilis). Plus, as my old camera died and I bought a new one a few weeks ago, I am trying to learn how to work with all the pretty buttons/settings it has. Unfortunately, my camera is far smarter than I, but hopefully it'll teach me if I just aim in the right direction and guess at some number settings.
The lie was the statement regarding the weather. It's beautiful right now - the sky is clear, the air is crisp, and it's just started to snow, so everything looks pristine and lovely. I don't know how pretty it will seem when it starts turning to sludge or when the ice makes me want to strap pillows all over my body to protect myself from the sidewalk... but for now, it's lovely.
18 November 2005
13 November 2005
We are Stupid AKA our Weekend in Prague
Praha, Czech Republic
PART I - GETTING THERE: Our weekend in Prague started out rather rockily. First off, we purchased a EURO-Domino ticket for the Czech Republic, which is a three-day ticket valid for all train travel within the Czech Republic. To get to the Czech Republic in the first place, we purchased a Bayern Ticket, which was valid to get us to the border. We looked at the Deutsch Bahn web site to find departure times for trains going from München to Prague (Prag in German, Praha in Czech). There was a regional train listed as leaving at around 11:20 that we could use with a Bayern Ticket. So we packed up our cameras, passports, journals, and a bit of food in our beloved (cheap but tiny) LMU backpacks, said goodbye to our loved ones (small dinner with Becky and Jay), and set off. We purchased and validated our Bayern Tickets at the Studentenstadt U-Bahn, so we wouldn't have to take our U-bahn cards with us.
We arrived triumphantly at the Hauptbahnhof (central train station), and marched over to the bulletin board to see what gate our train left from. 11:15...11:20...11:25.... No train to Prague. Confused, we walked over to an information booth and asked kindly where our train was. Apparently it didn't exist. There was a night ICE train that our Bayern Tickets wouldn't be valid for, which we could pay about 100 Euros to take, but other than that the next regional train to Prague would be leaving at 6:40 in the morning.
Annoyed, we fumed silently for a while at the lost time, and then realized another problem: our Bayern Tickets would no longer be valid after 3 AM. Refusing to waste 24 euros, we marched up to the reservations window, explained our situation to the kind attendant, and got our money promptly refunded, along with a profuse apology for the inconvenience.
In our dreams, that is. The attendant, apart from being an asshole in general, was very rude and unreceptive to our plight. He saw no reason that a Deutsch Bahn train listed by Deutsch Bahn on the Deutsch Bahn web site that didn't actually exist should be any fault of Deutsch Bahn's. He refused to refund our money, and waved us away. Frustrated, and thinking that perhaps there was a miscommunication, I asked if I could explain it again, this time in English. He promptly repeated HIS answer in English. (No no, you see, we understood YOUR German, sir, but you are being so ridiculously rude and anal, surely you must not have understood OURS). Such was not the case. He was, in fact, just rude and anal, in either language. The one positive thing we can take from this: we communicated perfectly well the first time around, in German. The many negative things need not be spelled out.
After this episode, we decided to camp out in the station's cafe and wait the night until our ACTUAL train arrived. Again, not a possibility afforded to us. The train station closed at one in the morning, at which point we relocated to the U-Bahn station downstairs, determined to spend the night there. However, as the trains kept going by, blowing cold air through the station and being generally noisy, neither Susan nor I could sleep. At about 2:30 we ended up returning to Studentenstadt to sleep for a few hours before returning to the train station yet again.
We met at 5:45, U-Bahn cards in hand this time, and did not validate our new Bayern Tickets until we arrived at the train station, checked that our train did in fact exist, and found the gate. We got on the train, and prepared to nap the many hours to Prague, when our tickets got checked almost immediately. I pulled out our new Bayern Ticket and handed it over. "This isn't valid for another half hour." Pardon? "The Bayern Ticket is not valid until 8 in the morning; this ticket does not work right now." I rolled my eyes slightly, fished around in my wallet for the old ticket, and handed it over saying, fine, we have the one from yesterday, too. "This ticket was only valid until 3AM." I stared at him blankly for a bit, certain that if I gave him some time, the absurdness of this would catch up with him. Day-long tickets valid until 3 AM, and the next day starts at 8 AM. I know I'm not a math major, but just in appearances, 3 is not 8. tres is not ocho, drei is not acht and why the hell does this ticket not work?!
Equally frustrated, Susan piped up, "Look, we have these Czech Republic tickets for most of our trip, we just need to get out of Bayern with this ticket; what do you want?" Apparently, the Czech Republic tickets, valid for all trains within the Czech Republic, purchased for our time in the Czech Republic, is valid for travel in Germany. We give up. We got our tickets stamped without any other problems, tucked both our useless Bayern Tickets into my wallet, and lay down to sleep. For all the Germans are stereotyped as logical and methodical, this is the most screwed up, counter-intuitive, and ridiculous set of rules for a train system I've ever seen. Bah. Onward to Prague.
We slept for a few hours, after which out tickets were checked again. Although there were no problems with the ticket, the woman who checked them informed us that the train would be splitting and if we wanted to go all the way to Prague, we'd have to move up by three cars. We thanked her, moved up, and went back to sleep. Then our tickets got checked again, and apparently the splitting point was not three cars away the first time, but rather we needed to move up another two trains. And quickly, as the trains would spit at the next stop. We moved and I ran off in search of a bathroom. Susan apparently lay down again, at which point the guy next to her asked if she wasn't getting off at the next stop. No, she replied, we were going to Prague. In this case, she was informed, we'd have to move up another few trains because this part of the train stayed at the next station. Susan waited until I returned, relayed the new information, and we ran up the train - about six cars further this time, for good measure. After this attempt, we ended up in the right place. The train separated, our part continued on, and very soon a pair of police officers came through the train asking for passports. Apparently we had crossed the border.
PART II - LANGUAGE DIFFICULTIES: Soon after our passports were checked, a man came through to check everyone's tickets again and we found ourselves surrounded by Czech. We understood the scenario, and therefore had no problem figuring out that the man with a uniform and date-stamp wanted to see our tickets, but it was the beginning of a new experience: neither of us had ever been in a country in which we were not competent (or accompanied by someone fully competent) in the language. Here, neither of us spoke Czech and, for all that people talk about how much English is spoken in Prague, we ran into a decent amount of people who spoke neither German nor English.
This scenario is at once frustrating and embarrassing. Between the two of us, we spoke five languages very competently, though rarely asked people about them. We'd normally ask first, "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" (do you speak German) and, if met with a blank look or a negative answer, we'd continue, "oder Englisch?" as these two languages would seem the most likely to be common between us and Czech citizens. Besides which, it seems silly to just continue on, "oder Französisch? Italienisch? Spanisch?" because, although we could get by with these options, they were unlikely to be found in Prague and, at this point, grunts and gestures would be more efficient.
It was nice when people were able to speak German, mostly because it feels like a concession to me if I speak English abroad. It makes me feel like I have less control over the situation - I have to depend on their knowledge of a second language - and also it makes me feel... I don't know, guilty? Lazy? If I resort to my first language, even if I know German and Spanish, I feel that I'm projecting the image of an arrogant American traveler - "Why should I bother to learn a new language; everyone should speak mine". To be fair, Czech is only spoken in one small country and is, logically speaking, a rather large amount of time and effort for such a small visit, whereas French, German, Spanish, Russian, and Chinese are spoken by more people. But this reasoning isn't explained in every encounter. The only fact that is known is that I am in a country without any grasp of its language. Peinlich. (pitiable/pathetic).
PART III - OUR ARRIVAL: We arrived in Prague in the afternoon; withdrew money; deciphered the metro system; found a very nice, yet extremely affordable, hostel; dropped off our backpacks; and set out on a walk towards downtown. Our hostel was a long way from downtown, so we ended up walking for a few hours. We felt safe, and the view was gorgeous - we found the river Vltava and then followed it towards the double spires of the Altstadt Cathedral. It was long-since dark by the time we got there, and we pretty much just wandered aimlessly for a bit. We saw some of the shops selling wooden puppets and others selling gorgeous blown-glass creations, bought some delicious gelato, and, after a few hours, took the metro back to our hostel
PART IV - EXPLORING PRAGUE: The next morning, we set off to explore all of Prague. In order to have as much time to explore as possible, we took the metro to Nové Mêsto (new town) and from there walked through Malá Strana (Little Quarter) to Hradcany, the area around the Prague Castle. The castle itself was unspectacular, but the buildings around it, the park in Malá Strana that we went through, and especially the overviews of Prague were amazing. From there, we crossed the Karlov most (Charles Bridge), which is probably over-hyped but still quite lovely, to Staromêstské Nám, which is the old square.
When we arrived there, it was getting dark and quite cold, so we wanted to buy some Glühwine (German mulled wine) to keep us warm. We saw lots of signs advertising it, most of which said "Grog" then "Glühwine" then "Mulled Wine". As the last two were identical, we assumed that Grog was the Czech word for Glühwine. Feeling proud of this conclusion and culturally-sensitive for using the local name, we walked into a store with one of these signs and ordered two "Grog"s. Oh man. First off, if that is wine, I am blonde. And tall. And a man. This drink smelled so strong, we had to hold it at arms length to keep from choking on the stench. When we finally got up the courage to try the stuff, we made an interesting discovery. Grog is, in fact, not a word of Czech origins, but rather a form of onomatopoeia, as "GROG" is, loosely transcribed, the sound one makes upon ingesting the stuff. After it cooled off enough to be of use no longer in warming our hands (still at arms' length from our faces), we dumped the vile fluid (apparently tea and rum, according to a translation I've read since), and purchased two Glühwines at a food stand in the square. This made us warm and very very happy (see Susan with her Glühwine). We stayed to see the Astronomical Clock go off at five, and then headed back home.
Due to the fact that we did not end up paying to enter either the museum (no time) or the actual castle (no interest), we had much more money than we needed, as our train tickets were already paid for. We therefore bought Czech beers to bring for Becky and Jay, and went out to eat. We went to an Italian restaurant near our hostel The woman who greeted us spoke no English, but did speak a decent amount of German. She was very sweet and patient and we successfully ordered a (very delicious) meal. When we were done, a different waiter came to clear the dishes, and said something to us in Czech. We looked a bit lost, and then responded in German, to which he raised his eyebrows and shook his head while backing (slowly, slowly) away. Ugh, so peinlich. He talked to the nice German-speaking lady, who laughed and came over to our table again... so embarrassing to not be competent in the language! On the plus side, we spoke so much German (in attempts to communicate with Czech people as well as with each other) that I think my German has improved more here than it did in München!
PART V - KARLSTEJN: On our last day, we went to Karlstejn to see the castle there. It was great to wander through the town and through the castle grounds. I think Susan described it best, saying that the Bavarian castles like Neuschwanstein, Linderhof, and Nymphenburg, are too fairy-tale, too decorative. In contrast, the Karlstejn castle looked like a medieval castle is expected to look, which was an interesting site to witness.
After exploring the castle, I sat down outside the gates to wait for Susan and was passed by a group of three Eastern Europeans (I couldn't pinpoint the language past being slavic, but it may have actually been Czech). A woman and two men - a bit before reaching the gates, the woman called out something excitedly and gestured towards the gate. The two men stopped, sighed, rolled their eyes, linked arms, and posed as she took a picture. The expression that they gave at being forced to pose (yet again?)... I can just see this having happened all the way up the hill. I giggled at how this reaction transcends language, and also at the thought of what they'd be in for once they actually passed the gates. (Hee hee. Yes, I'm evil, but you would have laughed too if you'd been there.)
When we finished exploring Karlstejn, we headed back to Prague to catch the afternoon train back to München. Ticket difficulties on our first day aside, it was a great weekend!
We arrived triumphantly at the Hauptbahnhof (central train station), and marched over to the bulletin board to see what gate our train left from. 11:15...11:20...11:25.... No train to Prague. Confused, we walked over to an information booth and asked kindly where our train was. Apparently it didn't exist. There was a night ICE train that our Bayern Tickets wouldn't be valid for, which we could pay about 100 Euros to take, but other than that the next regional train to Prague would be leaving at 6:40 in the morning.
Annoyed, we fumed silently for a while at the lost time, and then realized another problem: our Bayern Tickets would no longer be valid after 3 AM. Refusing to waste 24 euros, we marched up to the reservations window, explained our situation to the kind attendant, and got our money promptly refunded, along with a profuse apology for the inconvenience.
In our dreams, that is. The attendant, apart from being an asshole in general, was very rude and unreceptive to our plight. He saw no reason that a Deutsch Bahn train listed by Deutsch Bahn on the Deutsch Bahn web site that didn't actually exist should be any fault of Deutsch Bahn's. He refused to refund our money, and waved us away. Frustrated, and thinking that perhaps there was a miscommunication, I asked if I could explain it again, this time in English. He promptly repeated HIS answer in English. (No no, you see, we understood YOUR German, sir, but you are being so ridiculously rude and anal, surely you must not have understood OURS). Such was not the case. He was, in fact, just rude and anal, in either language. The one positive thing we can take from this: we communicated perfectly well the first time around, in German. The many negative things need not be spelled out.
After this episode, we decided to camp out in the station's cafe and wait the night until our ACTUAL train arrived. Again, not a possibility afforded to us. The train station closed at one in the morning, at which point we relocated to the U-Bahn station downstairs, determined to spend the night there. However, as the trains kept going by, blowing cold air through the station and being generally noisy, neither Susan nor I could sleep. At about 2:30 we ended up returning to Studentenstadt to sleep for a few hours before returning to the train station yet again.
We met at 5:45, U-Bahn cards in hand this time, and did not validate our new Bayern Tickets until we arrived at the train station, checked that our train did in fact exist, and found the gate. We got on the train, and prepared to nap the many hours to Prague, when our tickets got checked almost immediately. I pulled out our new Bayern Ticket and handed it over. "This isn't valid for another half hour." Pardon? "The Bayern Ticket is not valid until 8 in the morning; this ticket does not work right now." I rolled my eyes slightly, fished around in my wallet for the old ticket, and handed it over saying, fine, we have the one from yesterday, too. "This ticket was only valid until 3AM." I stared at him blankly for a bit, certain that if I gave him some time, the absurdness of this would catch up with him. Day-long tickets valid until 3 AM, and the next day starts at 8 AM. I know I'm not a math major, but just in appearances, 3 is not 8. tres is not ocho, drei is not acht and why the hell does this ticket not work?!
Equally frustrated, Susan piped up, "Look, we have these Czech Republic tickets for most of our trip, we just need to get out of Bayern with this ticket; what do you want?" Apparently, the Czech Republic tickets, valid for all trains within the Czech Republic, purchased for our time in the Czech Republic, is valid for travel in Germany. We give up. We got our tickets stamped without any other problems, tucked both our useless Bayern Tickets into my wallet, and lay down to sleep. For all the Germans are stereotyped as logical and methodical, this is the most screwed up, counter-intuitive, and ridiculous set of rules for a train system I've ever seen. Bah. Onward to Prague.
We slept for a few hours, after which out tickets were checked again. Although there were no problems with the ticket, the woman who checked them informed us that the train would be splitting and if we wanted to go all the way to Prague, we'd have to move up by three cars. We thanked her, moved up, and went back to sleep. Then our tickets got checked again, and apparently the splitting point was not three cars away the first time, but rather we needed to move up another two trains. And quickly, as the trains would spit at the next stop. We moved and I ran off in search of a bathroom. Susan apparently lay down again, at which point the guy next to her asked if she wasn't getting off at the next stop. No, she replied, we were going to Prague. In this case, she was informed, we'd have to move up another few trains because this part of the train stayed at the next station. Susan waited until I returned, relayed the new information, and we ran up the train - about six cars further this time, for good measure. After this attempt, we ended up in the right place. The train separated, our part continued on, and very soon a pair of police officers came through the train asking for passports. Apparently we had crossed the border.
PART II - LANGUAGE DIFFICULTIES: Soon after our passports were checked, a man came through to check everyone's tickets again and we found ourselves surrounded by Czech. We understood the scenario, and therefore had no problem figuring out that the man with a uniform and date-stamp wanted to see our tickets, but it was the beginning of a new experience: neither of us had ever been in a country in which we were not competent (or accompanied by someone fully competent) in the language. Here, neither of us spoke Czech and, for all that people talk about how much English is spoken in Prague, we ran into a decent amount of people who spoke neither German nor English.
This scenario is at once frustrating and embarrassing. Between the two of us, we spoke five languages very competently, though rarely asked people about them. We'd normally ask first, "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" (do you speak German) and, if met with a blank look or a negative answer, we'd continue, "oder Englisch?" as these two languages would seem the most likely to be common between us and Czech citizens. Besides which, it seems silly to just continue on, "oder Französisch? Italienisch? Spanisch?" because, although we could get by with these options, they were unlikely to be found in Prague and, at this point, grunts and gestures would be more efficient.
It was nice when people were able to speak German, mostly because it feels like a concession to me if I speak English abroad. It makes me feel like I have less control over the situation - I have to depend on their knowledge of a second language - and also it makes me feel... I don't know, guilty? Lazy? If I resort to my first language, even if I know German and Spanish, I feel that I'm projecting the image of an arrogant American traveler - "Why should I bother to learn a new language; everyone should speak mine". To be fair, Czech is only spoken in one small country and is, logically speaking, a rather large amount of time and effort for such a small visit, whereas French, German, Spanish, Russian, and Chinese are spoken by more people. But this reasoning isn't explained in every encounter. The only fact that is known is that I am in a country without any grasp of its language. Peinlich. (pitiable/pathetic).
PART III - OUR ARRIVAL: We arrived in Prague in the afternoon; withdrew money; deciphered the metro system; found a very nice, yet extremely affordable, hostel; dropped off our backpacks; and set out on a walk towards downtown. Our hostel was a long way from downtown, so we ended up walking for a few hours. We felt safe, and the view was gorgeous - we found the river Vltava and then followed it towards the double spires of the Altstadt Cathedral. It was long-since dark by the time we got there, and we pretty much just wandered aimlessly for a bit. We saw some of the shops selling wooden puppets and others selling gorgeous blown-glass creations, bought some delicious gelato, and, after a few hours, took the metro back to our hostel
PART IV - EXPLORING PRAGUE: The next morning, we set off to explore all of Prague. In order to have as much time to explore as possible, we took the metro to Nové Mêsto (new town) and from there walked through Malá Strana (Little Quarter) to Hradcany, the area around the Prague Castle. The castle itself was unspectacular, but the buildings around it, the park in Malá Strana that we went through, and especially the overviews of Prague were amazing. From there, we crossed the Karlov most (Charles Bridge), which is probably over-hyped but still quite lovely, to Staromêstské Nám, which is the old square.
When we arrived there, it was getting dark and quite cold, so we wanted to buy some Glühwine (German mulled wine) to keep us warm. We saw lots of signs advertising it, most of which said "Grog" then "Glühwine" then "Mulled Wine". As the last two were identical, we assumed that Grog was the Czech word for Glühwine. Feeling proud of this conclusion and culturally-sensitive for using the local name, we walked into a store with one of these signs and ordered two "Grog"s. Oh man. First off, if that is wine, I am blonde. And tall. And a man. This drink smelled so strong, we had to hold it at arms length to keep from choking on the stench. When we finally got up the courage to try the stuff, we made an interesting discovery. Grog is, in fact, not a word of Czech origins, but rather a form of onomatopoeia, as "GROG" is, loosely transcribed, the sound one makes upon ingesting the stuff. After it cooled off enough to be of use no longer in warming our hands (still at arms' length from our faces), we dumped the vile fluid (apparently tea and rum, according to a translation I've read since), and purchased two Glühwines at a food stand in the square. This made us warm and very very happy (see Susan with her Glühwine). We stayed to see the Astronomical Clock go off at five, and then headed back home.
Due to the fact that we did not end up paying to enter either the museum (no time) or the actual castle (no interest), we had much more money than we needed, as our train tickets were already paid for. We therefore bought Czech beers to bring for Becky and Jay, and went out to eat. We went to an Italian restaurant near our hostel The woman who greeted us spoke no English, but did speak a decent amount of German. She was very sweet and patient and we successfully ordered a (very delicious) meal. When we were done, a different waiter came to clear the dishes, and said something to us in Czech. We looked a bit lost, and then responded in German, to which he raised his eyebrows and shook his head while backing (slowly, slowly) away. Ugh, so peinlich. He talked to the nice German-speaking lady, who laughed and came over to our table again... so embarrassing to not be competent in the language! On the plus side, we spoke so much German (in attempts to communicate with Czech people as well as with each other) that I think my German has improved more here than it did in München!
PART V - KARLSTEJN: On our last day, we went to Karlstejn to see the castle there. It was great to wander through the town and through the castle grounds. I think Susan described it best, saying that the Bavarian castles like Neuschwanstein, Linderhof, and Nymphenburg, are too fairy-tale, too decorative. In contrast, the Karlstejn castle looked like a medieval castle is expected to look, which was an interesting site to witness.
After exploring the castle, I sat down outside the gates to wait for Susan and was passed by a group of three Eastern Europeans (I couldn't pinpoint the language past being slavic, but it may have actually been Czech). A woman and two men - a bit before reaching the gates, the woman called out something excitedly and gestured towards the gate. The two men stopped, sighed, rolled their eyes, linked arms, and posed as she took a picture. The expression that they gave at being forced to pose (yet again?)... I can just see this having happened all the way up the hill. I giggled at how this reaction transcends language, and also at the thought of what they'd be in for once they actually passed the gates. (Hee hee. Yes, I'm evil, but you would have laughed too if you'd been there.)
When we finished exploring Karlstejn, we headed back to Prague to catch the afternoon train back to München. Ticket difficulties on our first day aside, it was a great weekend!
06 November 2005
Mind Games and Heartaches
München, Deutschland
Now that I've been here for a couple months and had time to adjust to being in Germany, my mind has decided to start playing tricks on me. I'm melding locations, juxtaposing Valparaíso and Berkeley and Portland streets and buildings and landmarks onto Munich. If this weren't confusing enough, I'm seeing people from Chile and from the States here - people who cannot possibly be here. Stephanie's host siblings, Carrie's semi-stalker, a few random people from my high school, some swimmers here and there... On top of this, my languages are mixing together so much that I cannot tell which language I am thinking in. Spanish, English, German, all mixed up in my head and using the grammar from other languages, just to add a bit extra confusion. Maybe this is part of becoming familiar with a place? I start to relax and consider my surroundings to be normal or familiar and then my brain throws in images from other familiar places. This is a fun bit of psychosis, right now, let me tell ya...
I think being completely familiar with a place, being "at home" might occur when the surroundings are no longer strange, the architecture and landscapes no longer impressive. I remember Stephanie telling me at the end of last semester that she was glad to be leaving Chile in a way, because she never wanted to consider the cerros as everyday images; she wanted to maintain her wonder of the Valparaíso hills, and therefore would leave. I don't know that leaving the place is entirely necessary; but I agree with her on one part: I'd rather stay a stranger than lose the ability to be awed by my surroundings.
And I suppose in some way I'm succeeding, because I don't feel that I've become more Chilean, or more German. Rather, I'm becoming more neutral, and yet more American at the same time. I feel stronger ties to my own country, but at the same time more separated... In a way, I would like to have firm roots and feel like somewhere, just one place, is HOME. As it is, I don't know what I would refer to as my one home; the title is shared by the Bay Area, Portland, Valparaíso, and München.
I feel stretched, partially in four places and yet not completely in any of them. Part of me wants to latch on and put my roots firmly down somewhere, and then part of me wants to disconnect, so as not to be pulled, not be stretched...
It's making me feel thin, because I'm trying to love München, trying to understand it, and at the same time I miss my family and friends - in Berkeley, in Portland, and in Chile. I'm not even sure how to be homesick, because which one is "home"? Sometimes I am homesick for Lewis and Clark, sometimes for Berkeley, and sometimes for Valpo. At other times I miss all three at once, and then I just detach, but the thinning is still there...
...Nun aber schrumpft der Ort, wo du stehst:
Wohin jetzt, Schattenentblößter, wohin?
Steige. Taste empor.
Dünner wirst du, unkenntlicher, feiner!
Feiner: ein Faden,
an dem er herabwill, der Stern:
um unten zu schwimmen, unten,
wo er sich schimmern sieht: in der Dünung
wandernder Worte.
(Last stanza of "Sprich Auch Du" by Paul Celan)
I think being completely familiar with a place, being "at home" might occur when the surroundings are no longer strange, the architecture and landscapes no longer impressive. I remember Stephanie telling me at the end of last semester that she was glad to be leaving Chile in a way, because she never wanted to consider the cerros as everyday images; she wanted to maintain her wonder of the Valparaíso hills, and therefore would leave. I don't know that leaving the place is entirely necessary; but I agree with her on one part: I'd rather stay a stranger than lose the ability to be awed by my surroundings.
And I suppose in some way I'm succeeding, because I don't feel that I've become more Chilean, or more German. Rather, I'm becoming more neutral, and yet more American at the same time. I feel stronger ties to my own country, but at the same time more separated... In a way, I would like to have firm roots and feel like somewhere, just one place, is HOME. As it is, I don't know what I would refer to as my one home; the title is shared by the Bay Area, Portland, Valparaíso, and München.
I feel stretched, partially in four places and yet not completely in any of them. Part of me wants to latch on and put my roots firmly down somewhere, and then part of me wants to disconnect, so as not to be pulled, not be stretched...
It's making me feel thin, because I'm trying to love München, trying to understand it, and at the same time I miss my family and friends - in Berkeley, in Portland, and in Chile. I'm not even sure how to be homesick, because which one is "home"? Sometimes I am homesick for Lewis and Clark, sometimes for Berkeley, and sometimes for Valpo. At other times I miss all three at once, and then I just detach, but the thinning is still there...
...Nun aber schrumpft der Ort, wo du stehst:
Wohin jetzt, Schattenentblößter, wohin?
Steige. Taste empor.
Dünner wirst du, unkenntlicher, feiner!
Feiner: ein Faden,
an dem er herabwill, der Stern:
um unten zu schwimmen, unten,
wo er sich schimmern sieht: in der Dünung
wandernder Worte.
(Last stanza of "Sprich Auch Du" by Paul Celan)
11 October 2005
A week in the capital
Berlin, Deutschland
MONDAY - DAY ONE: Our week-long trip to Germany's capital started out with a very long train ride. We passed the time with random card games (in which I masterfully and decidedly beat Jay repeatedly) and a single attempt at Settlers of Catan (in which Susan masterfully and decidedly beat all of us). Meghan, one of our program leaders, periodically made rounds of the train, passing out bits of candy to anyone who was awake. In the entirety of the seven-hour train ride, she must have parceled out at least 10 pounds of candy between 20 or so students... I'll let you all do the math for that on your own, but let me just say that even I was getting sick of chocolate. We were then attacked by my water bottle, which became possessed and leapt, seemingly of its own accord, off the table and at my face. Naturally, and in self-defense, I swatted it away and, of course, it collided with Susan's forehead. Oops. But everyone at the table agrees that it was possessed and in no way under my control. After this near-death experience, Susan opted to sleep... on the floor under the table. Who knows why, but since I was sharing a seat with her, I got to lay down and "sleep" for a bit, thereby escaping the fate (diabetic coma) that Meghan seemed to have planned for us.
After we arrived in Berlin and checked into a hostel, we all went out for dinner. Now, I understand that feeding a group of 20-30 people may be a lengthy process, but we were pretty much the only people in the restaurant and yet had no food an hour after ordering. No sign of food, but drinks came rapidly, so some of us ordered cocktails in desperation for food. Tip for anyone starving and in a similar situation: Piña Coladas are yummy and come with a nice slice of pineapple to hold you over. Dinner eventually came (we stopped timing, but I think the wait was about one and a half to two hours) and was delicious: A fusion of Mediterranean and Middle-eastern food. Delicious couscous... more enjoyable by the fact that Susan is a light-weight and a bit of a mischievous drunk.
TUESDAY - DAY TWO: We woke up early and took a walking tour through the western half of Berlin, including the art district and a boat tour on the Spree (during which everyone fell asleep and the boat tour guide barked, loudly, into the microphone to wake us up). The first part of the tour - the walking part, was very interesting and the tour guide was great. In our defense regarding our nap on the boat, it was warm, the boat had a glass domed ceiling that induces sleep, and the tour guide (even according to our program leaders) was boring enough to put anyone to sleep. This, of course, does not include the instance of... um... channelling his inner-dog.
After the tours, we went home, took a nap, and then I went out to an early dinner with Susan, Amanda, and Guion (we ran into Jay on the way and dragged him along). We ate at "Casa Joe Penas" and I don't even think this place is worthy of evaluation as a latin american establishment. One, the name - Joe is in no way hispanic, and "penas" means "griefs", perhaps in reference to the happy hour, in which drinks were very very cheap. In summary, the food was horrible, the company was great, the drinks were excellent, and I found a pisco sour, which was passable and exciting to see outside of Chile (we won't count the Peruvian ones, which are yucky).
WEDNESDAY - DAY THREE: We visited the Reichstag and Unter den Linden as a group. For lunch, Susan, Guion, Amanda, Jay, Fred and I went along the Spree for a while and then sat down in the grass in front of the dom. While we were there, there was a very enthusiastic Australian tour guide speaking to a group of (we assume) American tourists. He was so into it, with elaborate gestures and jumping around wildly, even though he was basically saying "and so the palace was re-built a few years later". Eeep! We also had to explain the difference between "mahogany" and "monogamy", as there was apparently some confusion as to which one meant not polygamy (monogamy, for those of you who just tuned in) and then, in that case, "wait, so what's mahogany?"... I won't name names. In case there is any confusion, mahogany is a dark, burgundy-colored, expensive wood. Monogamy is what mormons are stereotypically not. After lunch, we went to the Pergamon, which was amazing, but so large that it was hard to take in everything that was there.
That afternoon, we played another game of Settlers (becoming addicts? Oh yes. Does Susan still skillfully slaughter any who challenge her? Oh yes.) with Thom and Amanda, and then Jay, Guion and I went out to dinner. Now, my dinner was fabulous, but somehow Guion managed to order a hamburger without the bun, and jay got a milkshake without the shake. Ah well. Afterwards, Susan and I went off exploring for an internet cafe. We were successful at finding one, though not at getting used to the keyboards. I gave up after my first email to Julia used the term "zaz" repeatedly when I was trying to convey excitement ("yay"). I also received an email from one of my would-be professors about the morphology class that I wanted to take. Apparently there were so many interested students, that the registration for the class would be decided by a test on the first day. Those who passed stayed in the class. Maybe I'm missing something, but "Introduction to Morphology", to me anyway, implies that students are NOT expected to have any prior knowledge of the subject. But... those who have a grasp on the subject of morphology and therefore past the test...are allowed to stay in the class...in order to gain an introduction to the subject of morphology...on which they have already demonstrated their knowledge.
... WHAT!? So, I was quite upset, but definitely gave up on getting into that class... And that was the note on which my Wednesday ended.
THURSDAY - DAY FOUR: We went to the Jewish museum on Thursday morning - the guide was terrible! He was boring, and walked us right past any interesting exhibits to talk for way too long about some obscure, random topic, IE jewish fashion around WWII. Thanks, but we'd rather spend a bit more time on the memorials, the newspaper articles, the propaganda, and the statistics. Uck. Obnoxious guide aside, the exhibits here were amazing and very emotionally evocative. If anyone is in Berlin and has a chance to go here, I suggest it wholeheartedly. There was also a large, outdoor exhibit called the garden of exile. My photo doesn't do it justice... It was a maze of tall cement blocks, on uneven ground, surrounded by trees that cast elongated shadows across all the pillars and across the floor... It was meant to represent the feelings of exile suffered by the Jewish people during the Holocaust, and it was a very powerful exhibit.
FRIDAY - DAY FIVE: Friday morning we went to Check Point Charlie. The museum was full of fascinating exhibits, but it was also a bit overwhelming. Maybe I was burnt out on museums, but I just couldn't absorb all the exhibits - all the information, and all the images - that were available. It would have been nice to have the ability to go back some other time - to take it in parts. Oh well, it was still a fascinating and interesting museum. We also took the second half of our walking tour of Berlin through the Eastern parts of the city and through an area in which we could see where the Berlin wall stood. During this tour we were accosted by an MTV interview crew, wanting commentary on Robbie Williams' presence in Berlin. Robbie Williams is a British pop star who is very popular in Europe, but practically unknown in the states. So everyone was confused and asking, "you mean ROBIN Williams? The comedian?" Anyway, they ended up interviewing Ethan, who also had no clue who Robbie Williams is. The tour guide was amused by the whole thing, and when a window-washer came out onto one of the balconies in the hotel where Robbie was supposedly staying, he incited a mini-riot, getting all the students to look up, point, and chant "Robbie! Robbie!" The MTV crew gave up and left.
That evening, we saw "Linie 1", a musical in a small local theater. It was very entertaining and also pretty easy to understand, which was encouraging.
SATURDAY - DAY SIX: Our final day in Berlin was really just the train ride home. Again, a long seven hours, filled almost entirely by playing card games with Jay and eating the candy that Meghan passed out. That evening, Becky, Susan, and Jay came over for dinner (pasta and some lovely Italian white wine that Amye had brought as a gift from Italy).
All in all it was a great week, and a nice way to end vorsemester. Next up: Winter Semester (dun-dun-DUN). Stay tuned, y'all.
After we arrived in Berlin and checked into a hostel, we all went out for dinner. Now, I understand that feeding a group of 20-30 people may be a lengthy process, but we were pretty much the only people in the restaurant and yet had no food an hour after ordering. No sign of food, but drinks came rapidly, so some of us ordered cocktails in desperation for food. Tip for anyone starving and in a similar situation: Piña Coladas are yummy and come with a nice slice of pineapple to hold you over. Dinner eventually came (we stopped timing, but I think the wait was about one and a half to two hours) and was delicious: A fusion of Mediterranean and Middle-eastern food. Delicious couscous... more enjoyable by the fact that Susan is a light-weight and a bit of a mischievous drunk.
TUESDAY - DAY TWO: We woke up early and took a walking tour through the western half of Berlin, including the art district and a boat tour on the Spree (during which everyone fell asleep and the boat tour guide barked, loudly, into the microphone to wake us up). The first part of the tour - the walking part, was very interesting and the tour guide was great. In our defense regarding our nap on the boat, it was warm, the boat had a glass domed ceiling that induces sleep, and the tour guide (even according to our program leaders) was boring enough to put anyone to sleep. This, of course, does not include the instance of... um... channelling his inner-dog.
After the tours, we went home, took a nap, and then I went out to an early dinner with Susan, Amanda, and Guion (we ran into Jay on the way and dragged him along). We ate at "Casa Joe Penas" and I don't even think this place is worthy of evaluation as a latin american establishment. One, the name - Joe is in no way hispanic, and "penas" means "griefs", perhaps in reference to the happy hour, in which drinks were very very cheap. In summary, the food was horrible, the company was great, the drinks were excellent, and I found a pisco sour, which was passable and exciting to see outside of Chile (we won't count the Peruvian ones, which are yucky).
WEDNESDAY - DAY THREE: We visited the Reichstag and Unter den Linden as a group. For lunch, Susan, Guion, Amanda, Jay, Fred and I went along the Spree for a while and then sat down in the grass in front of the dom. While we were there, there was a very enthusiastic Australian tour guide speaking to a group of (we assume) American tourists. He was so into it, with elaborate gestures and jumping around wildly, even though he was basically saying "and so the palace was re-built a few years later". Eeep! We also had to explain the difference between "mahogany" and "monogamy", as there was apparently some confusion as to which one meant not polygamy (monogamy, for those of you who just tuned in) and then, in that case, "wait, so what's mahogany?"... I won't name names. In case there is any confusion, mahogany is a dark, burgundy-colored, expensive wood. Monogamy is what mormons are stereotypically not. After lunch, we went to the Pergamon, which was amazing, but so large that it was hard to take in everything that was there.
That afternoon, we played another game of Settlers (becoming addicts? Oh yes. Does Susan still skillfully slaughter any who challenge her? Oh yes.) with Thom and Amanda, and then Jay, Guion and I went out to dinner. Now, my dinner was fabulous, but somehow Guion managed to order a hamburger without the bun, and jay got a milkshake without the shake. Ah well. Afterwards, Susan and I went off exploring for an internet cafe. We were successful at finding one, though not at getting used to the keyboards. I gave up after my first email to Julia used the term "zaz" repeatedly when I was trying to convey excitement ("yay"). I also received an email from one of my would-be professors about the morphology class that I wanted to take. Apparently there were so many interested students, that the registration for the class would be decided by a test on the first day. Those who passed stayed in the class. Maybe I'm missing something, but "Introduction to Morphology", to me anyway, implies that students are NOT expected to have any prior knowledge of the subject. But... those who have a grasp on the subject of morphology and therefore past the test...are allowed to stay in the class...in order to gain an introduction to the subject of morphology...on which they have already demonstrated their knowledge.
... WHAT!? So, I was quite upset, but definitely gave up on getting into that class... And that was the note on which my Wednesday ended.
THURSDAY - DAY FOUR: We went to the Jewish museum on Thursday morning - the guide was terrible! He was boring, and walked us right past any interesting exhibits to talk for way too long about some obscure, random topic, IE jewish fashion around WWII. Thanks, but we'd rather spend a bit more time on the memorials, the newspaper articles, the propaganda, and the statistics. Uck. Obnoxious guide aside, the exhibits here were amazing and very emotionally evocative. If anyone is in Berlin and has a chance to go here, I suggest it wholeheartedly. There was also a large, outdoor exhibit called the garden of exile. My photo doesn't do it justice... It was a maze of tall cement blocks, on uneven ground, surrounded by trees that cast elongated shadows across all the pillars and across the floor... It was meant to represent the feelings of exile suffered by the Jewish people during the Holocaust, and it was a very powerful exhibit.
FRIDAY - DAY FIVE: Friday morning we went to Check Point Charlie. The museum was full of fascinating exhibits, but it was also a bit overwhelming. Maybe I was burnt out on museums, but I just couldn't absorb all the exhibits - all the information, and all the images - that were available. It would have been nice to have the ability to go back some other time - to take it in parts. Oh well, it was still a fascinating and interesting museum. We also took the second half of our walking tour of Berlin through the Eastern parts of the city and through an area in which we could see where the Berlin wall stood. During this tour we were accosted by an MTV interview crew, wanting commentary on Robbie Williams' presence in Berlin. Robbie Williams is a British pop star who is very popular in Europe, but practically unknown in the states. So everyone was confused and asking, "you mean ROBIN Williams? The comedian?" Anyway, they ended up interviewing Ethan, who also had no clue who Robbie Williams is. The tour guide was amused by the whole thing, and when a window-washer came out onto one of the balconies in the hotel where Robbie was supposedly staying, he incited a mini-riot, getting all the students to look up, point, and chant "Robbie! Robbie!" The MTV crew gave up and left.
That evening, we saw "Linie 1", a musical in a small local theater. It was very entertaining and also pretty easy to understand, which was encouraging.
SATURDAY - DAY SIX: Our final day in Berlin was really just the train ride home. Again, a long seven hours, filled almost entirely by playing card games with Jay and eating the candy that Meghan passed out. That evening, Becky, Susan, and Jay came over for dinner (pasta and some lovely Italian white wine that Amye had brought as a gift from Italy).
All in all it was a great week, and a nice way to end vorsemester. Next up: Winter Semester (dun-dun-DUN). Stay tuned, y'all.
21 September 2005
Loneliness, Academics, and Language Frustration: München, Deutschland
The worse period of learning the language is the quiet stage. I don't know how other students learn languages, but my language acquisition process has rather predictable stages:
(1) Introduction to the language - quite incompetent in conversation, but proud of one's abilities to insert a word from the new language into an otherwise-English sentence.
(2) Familiarity with language - Starting to obtain an ear for the language, feeling comfortable with the basic vocabulary and grammar, speaking with confidence in the new language.
(3) A bit more study - Begin to realize that there are many grammatical rules that have NOT been fully absorbed. Begin to second-guess self and speech is very choppy and insecure.
(4) Quite a bit more study, plus contact with native speakers - Now positive that one's grammar and accent is downright awful. Avoiding speaking at all costs, and when forced to speak, unconfident to the point that all (or most) basic grammatical and vocabulary skills are lost.
(5) Realization of just how hopeless the situation is - Sick of being quiet all the time, and resigned to the fact that one will simply sound funny for quite awhile, start to speak more frequently with native and non-native speakers.
(6) Natural flow of words - Comfortable with language in speech and writing. Thinking and dreaming in the language. Although the accent is still not perfect and there may be some grammatical mistakes, on the whole competent and able to function fully in the new language.
(7) ???
Okay, I don't know what happens at number 7 because I'd say I'm at a 6 with Spanish. I think you get a perfect accent and a contract with "Brujas" (a Chilean soap opera) next, but I could be mistaken. I felt somewhere between 4 and 5 (almost out of 4) when I went to Chile, and I remember the frustration at myself for the first week or so when I didn't want to speak with native speakers in Chile. Currently, I'm at around a 3 or a 4 in German and just about ready to pull out all my hair.
I want to communicate! I have too many thoughts and ideas and opinions that I want to share in class or when we're speaking German outside of class. I understand the vast majority of the conversations that are going on around me, but I do not feel able to participate, and it is so frustrating. I am NOT without opinions. I am NOT silent. And I am not nearly as rude or dumb (in either sense of the word) as my floormates must surmise from my monosyllabic answers to most of their questions.
It's humiliating to hear myself talk and I don't want to seem completely anti-social (partly, yes, but not entirely). I most of all miss being able to express a sense of humor and play with the language. I can do this in English. I can do this with some people in Spanish. I am hopeless in German. That's the fun of speech, of language, of banter. It's tiring to function in another language without having this aspect.
It's tiring to have to strain to pay attention to what should be a simple conversation. It's obnoxious to have to piece contexts and sentences together instead of just understanding what someone says because my vocabulary is limited. And it's lonely not to be able to communicate. I have to hold back too much of what I'm thinking (which is interesting; I suppose I'm more vocally expressive than I thought).
And it's strange, but I'm not functioning in any given language. I switch back and forth between thinking in Spanish, English, and inarticulate German (yes, I have ineloquent thoughts when I am thinking in German). But I can't seem to have any language coordination between my mouth and my mind. I think in Spanish when trying to speak German. I think in German when trying to speak English or German. I think in English...well, only after reading, writing, or hearing a lot of English. Otherwise I seem to default to a language in which I am less competent. Academic masochism, perhaps?
Ah, speaking (writing) of academic masochism, I pulled my first all-nighter in over six months the other night. We had two tests in one day and the vocabulary simply was not sticking in my mind from the previous studying, so I just kept studying and turning flashcards until they did. That rolled right into the beginning of the test, so no sleep was had. I definitely never had to study this much in Chile, although all-nighters were pretty common at LC (thank you, swimming schedule). Up until naptime, which occurred immediately after my second test, I felt really good. I got my second wind at about 3 in the morning, after which I was able to appreciate the effort I was putting into it, satisfied with the fact that I was once again studying enough to disturb my sleep schedule. I don't know that this makes sense to anyone, but I really missed having to exhaust myself from the amount of work I had. Pushing boundaries, I suppose. Academically, Chile didn't make me do that. Staying up late was tied to salsa dancing or arguing with Stephanie's brother's friends, but not to studying.
On the other hand, I think I may have a subconscious theory that if I mentally beat myself up about this enough, the language will come faster. I know it is futile to want to push myself more and I'll just burn out.... But it's so darn frustrating to not be competent in this language.
On a more positive note, I'm looking at classes for next semester...no one but me really cares about this, so you can just skip this paragraph if you want. I'm planning on taking (1) Sprachkurs A, a continuation of the grammar class that I'm in now; (2) Culture and Civilization (German, obviously); (3) Japanese 1 for no credits because although I may get away with Korean, there is no way LC will let me have credit for Japanese. This means I don't have to put in effort for a good grade; just get an introduction to the language... (4)Introduction to German morphology, (5) German semantics, and (6) Current trends in Argentinean movies. The last is in Spanish and I'm really excited about it. I'm also excited for the linguistic and grammar courses... Really for everything but Culture and Civilization because I'm pretty sure there will be date-memorization involved in the tests and I'm time-stupid. If you told me that World War I brought about the French Revolution, I would be very insecure in saying that the French Revolution was at least a decade earlier (1789 and 1914. I know.) This was a bad example because these dates were on one of our tests and I had to spend many hours committing the numbers to memory. See all-nighter paragraph. Generally, though, I'm quite date-ignorant.
(1) Introduction to the language - quite incompetent in conversation, but proud of one's abilities to insert a word from the new language into an otherwise-English sentence.
(2) Familiarity with language - Starting to obtain an ear for the language, feeling comfortable with the basic vocabulary and grammar, speaking with confidence in the new language.
(3) A bit more study - Begin to realize that there are many grammatical rules that have NOT been fully absorbed. Begin to second-guess self and speech is very choppy and insecure.
(4) Quite a bit more study, plus contact with native speakers - Now positive that one's grammar and accent is downright awful. Avoiding speaking at all costs, and when forced to speak, unconfident to the point that all (or most) basic grammatical and vocabulary skills are lost.
(5) Realization of just how hopeless the situation is - Sick of being quiet all the time, and resigned to the fact that one will simply sound funny for quite awhile, start to speak more frequently with native and non-native speakers.
(6) Natural flow of words - Comfortable with language in speech and writing. Thinking and dreaming in the language. Although the accent is still not perfect and there may be some grammatical mistakes, on the whole competent and able to function fully in the new language.
(7) ???
Okay, I don't know what happens at number 7 because I'd say I'm at a 6 with Spanish. I think you get a perfect accent and a contract with "Brujas" (a Chilean soap opera) next, but I could be mistaken. I felt somewhere between 4 and 5 (almost out of 4) when I went to Chile, and I remember the frustration at myself for the first week or so when I didn't want to speak with native speakers in Chile. Currently, I'm at around a 3 or a 4 in German and just about ready to pull out all my hair.
I want to communicate! I have too many thoughts and ideas and opinions that I want to share in class or when we're speaking German outside of class. I understand the vast majority of the conversations that are going on around me, but I do not feel able to participate, and it is so frustrating. I am NOT without opinions. I am NOT silent. And I am not nearly as rude or dumb (in either sense of the word) as my floormates must surmise from my monosyllabic answers to most of their questions.
It's humiliating to hear myself talk and I don't want to seem completely anti-social (partly, yes, but not entirely). I most of all miss being able to express a sense of humor and play with the language. I can do this in English. I can do this with some people in Spanish. I am hopeless in German. That's the fun of speech, of language, of banter. It's tiring to function in another language without having this aspect.
It's tiring to have to strain to pay attention to what should be a simple conversation. It's obnoxious to have to piece contexts and sentences together instead of just understanding what someone says because my vocabulary is limited. And it's lonely not to be able to communicate. I have to hold back too much of what I'm thinking (which is interesting; I suppose I'm more vocally expressive than I thought).
And it's strange, but I'm not functioning in any given language. I switch back and forth between thinking in Spanish, English, and inarticulate German (yes, I have ineloquent thoughts when I am thinking in German). But I can't seem to have any language coordination between my mouth and my mind. I think in Spanish when trying to speak German. I think in German when trying to speak English or German. I think in English...well, only after reading, writing, or hearing a lot of English. Otherwise I seem to default to a language in which I am less competent. Academic masochism, perhaps?
Ah, speaking (writing) of academic masochism, I pulled my first all-nighter in over six months the other night. We had two tests in one day and the vocabulary simply was not sticking in my mind from the previous studying, so I just kept studying and turning flashcards until they did. That rolled right into the beginning of the test, so no sleep was had. I definitely never had to study this much in Chile, although all-nighters were pretty common at LC (thank you, swimming schedule). Up until naptime, which occurred immediately after my second test, I felt really good. I got my second wind at about 3 in the morning, after which I was able to appreciate the effort I was putting into it, satisfied with the fact that I was once again studying enough to disturb my sleep schedule. I don't know that this makes sense to anyone, but I really missed having to exhaust myself from the amount of work I had. Pushing boundaries, I suppose. Academically, Chile didn't make me do that. Staying up late was tied to salsa dancing or arguing with Stephanie's brother's friends, but not to studying.
On the other hand, I think I may have a subconscious theory that if I mentally beat myself up about this enough, the language will come faster. I know it is futile to want to push myself more and I'll just burn out.... But it's so darn frustrating to not be competent in this language.
On a more positive note, I'm looking at classes for next semester...no one but me really cares about this, so you can just skip this paragraph if you want. I'm planning on taking (1) Sprachkurs A, a continuation of the grammar class that I'm in now; (2) Culture and Civilization (German, obviously); (3) Japanese 1 for no credits because although I may get away with Korean, there is no way LC will let me have credit for Japanese. This means I don't have to put in effort for a good grade; just get an introduction to the language... (4)Introduction to German morphology, (5) German semantics, and (6) Current trends in Argentinean movies. The last is in Spanish and I'm really excited about it. I'm also excited for the linguistic and grammar courses... Really for everything but Culture and Civilization because I'm pretty sure there will be date-memorization involved in the tests and I'm time-stupid. If you told me that World War I brought about the French Revolution, I would be very insecure in saying that the French Revolution was at least a decade earlier (1789 and 1914. I know.) This was a bad example because these dates were on one of our tests and I had to spend many hours committing the numbers to memory. See all-nighter paragraph. Generally, though, I'm quite date-ignorant.
14 September 2005
(Reverse) Culture Shock: München, Deutschland
Upon first arriving in München, I had difficulties compromising the experiences and values I gained in Chile with what I was observing and experiencing as a foreigner here. My time in Latin America drastically changed my ideas of what is normal or intelligent behavior, especially as a foreigner in a large city. I quickly began to notice how loud Americans are as compared to Chileans - not just in volume (though you can hear an American a block away by the volume of her voice), but in behavior as well. We tend to stand out - we wear flashy clothing, have comparatively fluorescent skin (some of us more than others), lighter hair, are often taller, and take up more space when we walk. Additionally, Northern americans will normally take out a camera or cell phone or wallet in public with no strong reservations. In Chile, private conversations were more private - you couldn't here chileans talking loudly from the other end of the micro, as they tend to speak in quieter voices. Additionally, all Chileans took for granted that you do not flaunt expensive possessions in public. Take out a wallet,camera, or cell phone, for that matter OWN one without securing it to your person, is simply asking for it to be stolen.
Germany is similar to North American in these aspects, if not more so... At one point, I was thoroughly convinced that Munich no more than 12 actual Germans, given the sheer amount of backpacks, bikes, and cameras I saw. Not to mention the lighter hair, pale skin and loud voices. Except that most of the voices tend to be speaking in German....Clever tourists, trying to blend in, I thought. No way germans would be comfortable with that level of volume or with taking money out in public. Or were they? That was a revelation in itself....
It's interesting how rapidly "european" habits come back - carrying a wallet loose in my bag, being comfortable with money, taking a camera out in public, speaking in louder tones.... I miss a lot of Chilean culture, though - bartering, the natural beauty of the city, the language, dancing... I miss my families. I miss the ocean terribly. I miss giving kisses as greetings, I miss the everyday interactions I grew accustomed to there - verbal and non-verbal. And I'm sad to feel that all fading away; I feel as if allowing myself to become accustomed to German culture would be a betrayal of my time in Chile, an acceptance of that fading memory.
Germany is similar to North American in these aspects, if not more so... At one point, I was thoroughly convinced that Munich no more than 12 actual Germans, given the sheer amount of backpacks, bikes, and cameras I saw. Not to mention the lighter hair, pale skin and loud voices. Except that most of the voices tend to be speaking in German....Clever tourists, trying to blend in, I thought. No way germans would be comfortable with that level of volume or with taking money out in public. Or were they? That was a revelation in itself....
It's interesting how rapidly "european" habits come back - carrying a wallet loose in my bag, being comfortable with money, taking a camera out in public, speaking in louder tones.... I miss a lot of Chilean culture, though - bartering, the natural beauty of the city, the language, dancing... I miss my families. I miss the ocean terribly. I miss giving kisses as greetings, I miss the everyday interactions I grew accustomed to there - verbal and non-verbal. And I'm sad to feel that all fading away; I feel as if allowing myself to become accustomed to German culture would be a betrayal of my time in Chile, an acceptance of that fading memory.
03 September 2005
Initial Experience: München, Deutschland
Whew. Over a day in Germany and I do not seem to be freaking out yet. Excellent.
Yesterday, I arrived at the airport after a long flight from SF to London and another flight to Munich. When passing through customs, the customs officer asked me something in English with a German accent that I didn't understand, and I instantly replied, "¿cómo?" He repeated the question, asking how long I would be staying in Germany and, eager to make up for slipping into Spanish, answered "la mitad de un mes-er, a couple weeks." Oh yes, this bodes well for the twelve months ahead of me... After getting my baggage, I was picked up by Lenke, one of the people who works with the LC program here, who was really sweet and helpful and speaking in English (I had spent the last hour of my flight from England to Germany trying to remember how to say anything in German that would be particularly useful, but kept falling asleep without coming up with any memory boosts, as the Spanish through customs demonstrates). She showed me my room (single room dorm, with shared kitchen, bathroom and showers, but my own sink and bed/study room) and gave me my orientation information for the program before running off to find the next student at the airport. I managed to unpack and put away everything neatly (Carrie would be so proud) and decorate my room to the best of my abilities given my resources (a sarong and two pretty scarves) before falling asleep at about 5 pm.
This morning, I woke up early (well, 8:30, which I suppose isn't very impressive after over 15 hours of sleep), and pulled out my lovely touristy Lonely Planet book on Bavaria to plan my day. I decided to go to the Marienplatz and walk around from there in the Altstadt (old city) of Munich, where most of the touristy sites are (churches, fountains, really old buildings the like), to get some of my touristy ya-yas out before the program orientation starts on Monday. Before I finished drawing out a copy of the map in the book (because I would rather be caught dead than pull out a tourist book or obvious map in the middle of a city - however, taking pictures of everything that does not display an American flag is acceptable behavior), I had a visit. I didn't know about it at first, I thought it was a fire alarm beeping or something when I heard the doorbell ring; I'm not accustomed to dorms with doorbells. But on the third ring I decided to go see if someone was at the door. As it turns out, it was Jay, a student in my German class from LC. It was exciting to see him, not only because he is the first non-Spanish-speaking LC student I've seen since December, but also because it reminded me that I really am here and will be studying for a year. Yay for studying abroad. Furthermore, of all the students that I saw on the list, I believe that Jay is the only one who was ever in my class. So yay for Katja's 101 students.
After Jay left to go shopping for electrical plug converters, I began my touristy outing to München's Altstadt. For the most part, it was a success: I rode the correct U-Bahns, I took a bunch of pictures, purchased a pesto-like spread, grapes, and a loaf of bread from a farmers market without having to resort to points and grunts (or English), and didn't get lost. In fact, two people asked me for directions (but I had no clue about anything outside of the little route I'd designed for myself, and of course would not pull out a map in public, so I was of no help to them). It's the little things that count, I suppose. I didn't get to see everything I had planned to see because I got tired after the first five hours of wandering in not-particularly-good walking shoes, but will continue my wandering tomorrow (and buy tape so that I can put pretty pictures on the walls of my room).
The only setback of the day came when I slipped into a cellular shop to buy a new SIM card for my cell phone. I would like to preface this mini-story with two facts: (1) I purchased a very nice, rather expensive tri band cell phone in Chile for the specific purpose of continuing to use it when I got to Germany. A single band would have worked just fine in Chile. And the retail lady at the Entel store assured me that I could indeed change SIM cards in the phone without a problem. Foreshadowing, anyone? Read on. (2) Cell phone vocabulary is not exactly in the German curriculum at LC. Back to my attempts to buy a SIM card, which luckily is a cognate in German, Spanish, and English. After a bit of difficulties regarding the card that I wanted (apparently there are multiple versions), and various bits of paperwork, the man who was helping me put the new SIM card in my phone and gave me the new PIN. I entered the PIN number and the phone instantly blocked me. Apparently, my phone does NOT work with any other SIM cards. Not only was I vaguely annoyed (I mean, I can't exactly march back to the store in Valparaíso and demand a refund), but quite confused - what is the point of selling tri-band phones in Chile if they can only use the Chilean SIM card that they start with- which would be single band, and much cheaper. Oh, now I get it... Well, touché, Chileans, as the customers will obviously not discover this until they are in another country. But ARG... One more bit of complaining: this is NOT a rant that translates well into German given my vocabulary. So, after mentally beating myself for sounding so ridiculous, I had to buy a new phone (which will not work with other SIM cards, but at least it was cheap and, as the guy at the cell phone store pointed out, sehr chic). And, upon leaving the store, I think we all know what that guy was thinking: Dume Gringa.
Right. Well, it happens. As I recall, my first attempt to buy a cell phone in Chile sent me straight into my only day of culture shocked bitchiness in my entire semester in Chile, listing on the bus ride home all things Chilean that grated my nerves (first and foremost: incessant honking in traffic jams). Stephanie remembers this lovely episode, I'm sure... So, at least I am not likely to assault anyone who speaks German near me or anything extreme like that.
I will finish the touristy explorations of Munich tomorrow, and then our program orientation starts on Monday. I'm excited about starting! But at the same time, I am definitely worried about the fact that I haven't been able to practice German for a semester... Positive thinking, yeah? And hey, if I'm the most poorly-prepared person here, I'll just have to improve my German that much faster, because those German linguistic courses in the main University are really calling to me for second semester. Sanskrit too... so that will be the contingency plan if my German still sucks at the end of this semester: Sanskrit, Japanese, French, Arabic, and Italian as my courses. No German necessary. I wonder how quickly my advisers would block my e-mail if I seriously suggested that. Maybe Juan would go with it if I took a Spanish literature course...
Yesterday, I arrived at the airport after a long flight from SF to London and another flight to Munich. When passing through customs, the customs officer asked me something in English with a German accent that I didn't understand, and I instantly replied, "¿cómo?" He repeated the question, asking how long I would be staying in Germany and, eager to make up for slipping into Spanish, answered "la mitad de un mes-er, a couple weeks." Oh yes, this bodes well for the twelve months ahead of me... After getting my baggage, I was picked up by Lenke, one of the people who works with the LC program here, who was really sweet and helpful and speaking in English (I had spent the last hour of my flight from England to Germany trying to remember how to say anything in German that would be particularly useful, but kept falling asleep without coming up with any memory boosts, as the Spanish through customs demonstrates). She showed me my room (single room dorm, with shared kitchen, bathroom and showers, but my own sink and bed/study room) and gave me my orientation information for the program before running off to find the next student at the airport. I managed to unpack and put away everything neatly (Carrie would be so proud) and decorate my room to the best of my abilities given my resources (a sarong and two pretty scarves) before falling asleep at about 5 pm.
This morning, I woke up early (well, 8:30, which I suppose isn't very impressive after over 15 hours of sleep), and pulled out my lovely touristy Lonely Planet book on Bavaria to plan my day. I decided to go to the Marienplatz and walk around from there in the Altstadt (old city) of Munich, where most of the touristy sites are (churches, fountains, really old buildings the like), to get some of my touristy ya-yas out before the program orientation starts on Monday. Before I finished drawing out a copy of the map in the book (because I would rather be caught dead than pull out a tourist book or obvious map in the middle of a city - however, taking pictures of everything that does not display an American flag is acceptable behavior), I had a visit. I didn't know about it at first, I thought it was a fire alarm beeping or something when I heard the doorbell ring; I'm not accustomed to dorms with doorbells. But on the third ring I decided to go see if someone was at the door. As it turns out, it was Jay, a student in my German class from LC. It was exciting to see him, not only because he is the first non-Spanish-speaking LC student I've seen since December, but also because it reminded me that I really am here and will be studying for a year. Yay for studying abroad. Furthermore, of all the students that I saw on the list, I believe that Jay is the only one who was ever in my class. So yay for Katja's 101 students.
After Jay left to go shopping for electrical plug converters, I began my touristy outing to München's Altstadt. For the most part, it was a success: I rode the correct U-Bahns, I took a bunch of pictures, purchased a pesto-like spread, grapes, and a loaf of bread from a farmers market without having to resort to points and grunts (or English), and didn't get lost. In fact, two people asked me for directions (but I had no clue about anything outside of the little route I'd designed for myself, and of course would not pull out a map in public, so I was of no help to them). It's the little things that count, I suppose. I didn't get to see everything I had planned to see because I got tired after the first five hours of wandering in not-particularly-good walking shoes, but will continue my wandering tomorrow (and buy tape so that I can put pretty pictures on the walls of my room).
The only setback of the day came when I slipped into a cellular shop to buy a new SIM card for my cell phone. I would like to preface this mini-story with two facts: (1) I purchased a very nice, rather expensive tri band cell phone in Chile for the specific purpose of continuing to use it when I got to Germany. A single band would have worked just fine in Chile. And the retail lady at the Entel store assured me that I could indeed change SIM cards in the phone without a problem. Foreshadowing, anyone? Read on. (2) Cell phone vocabulary is not exactly in the German curriculum at LC. Back to my attempts to buy a SIM card, which luckily is a cognate in German, Spanish, and English. After a bit of difficulties regarding the card that I wanted (apparently there are multiple versions), and various bits of paperwork, the man who was helping me put the new SIM card in my phone and gave me the new PIN. I entered the PIN number and the phone instantly blocked me. Apparently, my phone does NOT work with any other SIM cards. Not only was I vaguely annoyed (I mean, I can't exactly march back to the store in Valparaíso and demand a refund), but quite confused - what is the point of selling tri-band phones in Chile if they can only use the Chilean SIM card that they start with- which would be single band, and much cheaper. Oh, now I get it... Well, touché, Chileans, as the customers will obviously not discover this until they are in another country. But ARG... One more bit of complaining: this is NOT a rant that translates well into German given my vocabulary. So, after mentally beating myself for sounding so ridiculous, I had to buy a new phone (which will not work with other SIM cards, but at least it was cheap and, as the guy at the cell phone store pointed out, sehr chic). And, upon leaving the store, I think we all know what that guy was thinking: Dume Gringa.
Right. Well, it happens. As I recall, my first attempt to buy a cell phone in Chile sent me straight into my only day of culture shocked bitchiness in my entire semester in Chile, listing on the bus ride home all things Chilean that grated my nerves (first and foremost: incessant honking in traffic jams). Stephanie remembers this lovely episode, I'm sure... So, at least I am not likely to assault anyone who speaks German near me or anything extreme like that.
I will finish the touristy explorations of Munich tomorrow, and then our program orientation starts on Monday. I'm excited about starting! But at the same time, I am definitely worried about the fact that I haven't been able to practice German for a semester... Positive thinking, yeah? And hey, if I'm the most poorly-prepared person here, I'll just have to improve my German that much faster, because those German linguistic courses in the main University are really calling to me for second semester. Sanskrit too... so that will be the contingency plan if my German still sucks at the end of this semester: Sanskrit, Japanese, French, Arabic, and Italian as my courses. No German necessary. I wonder how quickly my advisers would block my e-mail if I seriously suggested that. Maybe Juan would go with it if I took a Spanish literature course...
31 August 2005
Pre-departure commentary: Berkeley, California
The month in the US is almost over, and I'm already packed and ready to leave for Germany. Alright, I have to finish packing and clean my room before leaving for the airport at 9 in the morning, but the sentiment remains: I feel like I've had very little time here in California. It is very surreal traveling like this - getting used to a certain place, a specific community and routine, and then packing up and moving to a different country, language, community.. I feel like I have three separate lives: One in Portland, tenuously kept alive by e-mails from the swim team, the LAS list, and Jon Eldridge's constant Opportunities and Announcements updates; one in Berkeley, with Jules and my family; and one in Chile, with Carrie and Stephanie (although she left before I did) and Marcelo and my host family and Steph and Carrie's host families..
Traveling is wearying in many ways. Not from jet-lag or otherwise physical weariness, and not mental weariness from functioning in a non-native language, although both are prominent factors in living abroad. More than anything else, I am emotionally exhausted from having to pull up all my roots and relocate every few months. It is saddening to know that the lives I adopt, the habits and routines I become accustomed to, even most of the relationships created abroad, are all temporary. Certainly, I incorporate foreign-influenced customs and quirks into my life upon returning: Spanish has become my automatic language when I don't understand what someone has said - I don't think we have to read very far into that to find the psychological implications - and the addiction to lemon and salt as a salad dressing (or as a snack) shows no sign of diminishing. And the best friends are always willing to put in the effort to stay in contact, but something always seems to get lost between the boarding gate and baggage claim.
I don't know exactly what is lost, and I don't know exactly what remains, but I know a different person will enter Germany in a couple of days than the person who set foot in Chile six months ago. Jules said once that she thought I was "softer", Martha commented that I seemed more willing to go with the flow, Carrie thinks I go out more often, and Jorge jokes that my dancing has certainly improved. So has my Spanish, as my host family pointed out. I agree with many of these observations, but they aren't what I would have highlighted as the most prominent differences. I am "softer" in the sense that I am older, by more than 6 months, it seems. I feel calmer, perhaps - more relaxed, emotionally wiser, and less self-conscious but at the same time more confident, assertive, and more brutal in my honesty.
Most helpful for my trip to Germany will probably be the decrease in self-consciousness and the increased confidence; I am willing to go exploring alone early on, before my program starts, which I probably would not have done alone in my first week in Chile, although my Spanish was better then than my German is now. As to language skills, I got over a lot of my inhibitions in speaking last semester: I know I am going to stand out as a foreigner, but I won't get any better at speaking if this fact prevents me from speaking at all. So I have a funny accent and limited skills. Well, my German is probably better than the Spanish skills of most Germans, and my English is at least as good as theirs.
(2) Having classes that I (hopefully) have to put some serious thought into besides memorization
(3) Speaking (after learning) German again and
(4) Developing my fourth life
...because what good does it do to look back?
Traveling is wearying in many ways. Not from jet-lag or otherwise physical weariness, and not mental weariness from functioning in a non-native language, although both are prominent factors in living abroad. More than anything else, I am emotionally exhausted from having to pull up all my roots and relocate every few months. It is saddening to know that the lives I adopt, the habits and routines I become accustomed to, even most of the relationships created abroad, are all temporary. Certainly, I incorporate foreign-influenced customs and quirks into my life upon returning: Spanish has become my automatic language when I don't understand what someone has said - I don't think we have to read very far into that to find the psychological implications - and the addiction to lemon and salt as a salad dressing (or as a snack) shows no sign of diminishing. And the best friends are always willing to put in the effort to stay in contact, but something always seems to get lost between the boarding gate and baggage claim.
I don't know exactly what is lost, and I don't know exactly what remains, but I know a different person will enter Germany in a couple of days than the person who set foot in Chile six months ago. Jules said once that she thought I was "softer", Martha commented that I seemed more willing to go with the flow, Carrie thinks I go out more often, and Jorge jokes that my dancing has certainly improved. So has my Spanish, as my host family pointed out. I agree with many of these observations, but they aren't what I would have highlighted as the most prominent differences. I am "softer" in the sense that I am older, by more than 6 months, it seems. I feel calmer, perhaps - more relaxed, emotionally wiser, and less self-conscious but at the same time more confident, assertive, and more brutal in my honesty.
Most helpful for my trip to Germany will probably be the decrease in self-consciousness and the increased confidence; I am willing to go exploring alone early on, before my program starts, which I probably would not have done alone in my first week in Chile, although my Spanish was better then than my German is now. As to language skills, I got over a lot of my inhibitions in speaking last semester: I know I am going to stand out as a foreigner, but I won't get any better at speaking if this fact prevents me from speaking at all. So I have a funny accent and limited skills. Well, my German is probably better than the Spanish skills of most Germans, and my English is at least as good as theirs.
(2) Having classes that I (hopefully) have to put some serious thought into besides memorization
(3) Speaking (after learning) German again and
(4) Developing my fourth life
...because what good does it do to look back?
31 July 2005
Adios, mi corazón: Valparaíso, Chile
The hills, the brightly colored houses, the varying shades of the ocean, the smell of rain on the coast, the family, the micros, the stray dogs, the memorized routes to friends' houses, the dances, the latin time... are only a portion of what I am leaving behind. This is a city of poets, of romance, of emotion. This is a port of lost glory, a coast of eternal beauty. I love this place like a parent, a friend, a sister. I feel numb at the thought of leaving and I cannot fully comprehend that I'm going to return to the states, to that other life that must certainly have paused for six months while I was here.
But that's not the case and Valparaíso won't pause either. These places, communities, are the forces that march heedless through time; I am but a single woman passing through. In this time, Valparaíso has changed my life more than I can articulate and more than I would be comfortable sharing. Because it has altered me so essentially, permeated my life so subtly, if I took the time to pause, to consider, to record in writing exactly how much, I'm afraid that I wouldn't know who I am. Valpo has affected me, but I have had little or no effect on Valpo. I met a tiny portion of its populace, made a few connections, lost others, and have been accepted for the time. But I'm moving on and they're staying. And who's to say how many people will remember me in a month, a year, a decade... How many will be left? How many will I remember? Will I ever forget?
For better or for worse, I have been touched by this country and I don't think that the imprint will ever fully leave. I'm worried that I will never fully recover if I leave this place, if I leave these people, but I'm perhaps more terrified that I will. That I will forget, that they will forget, that I will revert back to whoever I was before I came here. Because I don't want that. I want to carry the memories and images and faces and scars that I gained here and hold them to me, close, forever. Because I hold them close to me now. And it's important that I do so, because if I let go, all the happiness, all the frustrations, all the laughter, all the tears fade away as if they had never happened. And I can't get them back if that happens. Because the situation will be different, the people will be different. And I will be disappointed with the reality, trying in vain to maintain the memory in the present.
I love this place, and I recognize this numbness as separation. I'm separating from this place, from this family, from these memories, and in doing so separating from myself. I'm leaving a part of myself here, perhaps in the hope that when I return, if I return, that part will have preserved Valpo's memory of me, and the same people will remember and be waiting for me still. This way I have the hope of returning, of finding them again, of reuniting with this part of me... Without this hope, I don't think I would get on that plane back to the States. Back to "home"... For a part of me.
Gracias por todo lo que me has dado. Gracias por las sonrisas, por los bailes, por las lágrimas. Gracias por abrir mi corazón a sentir este lugar, a entenderlo, a quererlo. Por mi parte, yo te juro que nunca voy a olvidar. Espero que me recuerdes; espero que me extrañes. Y si sea posible en el futuro que nos reunamos, espero que me esperes. Adios, mi corazón. Que te vaya increíble, Valparaíso.
But that's not the case and Valparaíso won't pause either. These places, communities, are the forces that march heedless through time; I am but a single woman passing through. In this time, Valparaíso has changed my life more than I can articulate and more than I would be comfortable sharing. Because it has altered me so essentially, permeated my life so subtly, if I took the time to pause, to consider, to record in writing exactly how much, I'm afraid that I wouldn't know who I am. Valpo has affected me, but I have had little or no effect on Valpo. I met a tiny portion of its populace, made a few connections, lost others, and have been accepted for the time. But I'm moving on and they're staying. And who's to say how many people will remember me in a month, a year, a decade... How many will be left? How many will I remember? Will I ever forget?
For better or for worse, I have been touched by this country and I don't think that the imprint will ever fully leave. I'm worried that I will never fully recover if I leave this place, if I leave these people, but I'm perhaps more terrified that I will. That I will forget, that they will forget, that I will revert back to whoever I was before I came here. Because I don't want that. I want to carry the memories and images and faces and scars that I gained here and hold them to me, close, forever. Because I hold them close to me now. And it's important that I do so, because if I let go, all the happiness, all the frustrations, all the laughter, all the tears fade away as if they had never happened. And I can't get them back if that happens. Because the situation will be different, the people will be different. And I will be disappointed with the reality, trying in vain to maintain the memory in the present.
I love this place, and I recognize this numbness as separation. I'm separating from this place, from this family, from these memories, and in doing so separating from myself. I'm leaving a part of myself here, perhaps in the hope that when I return, if I return, that part will have preserved Valpo's memory of me, and the same people will remember and be waiting for me still. This way I have the hope of returning, of finding them again, of reuniting with this part of me... Without this hope, I don't think I would get on that plane back to the States. Back to "home"... For a part of me.
Gracias por todo lo que me has dado. Gracias por las sonrisas, por los bailes, por las lágrimas. Gracias por abrir mi corazón a sentir este lugar, a entenderlo, a quererlo. Por mi parte, yo te juro que nunca voy a olvidar. Espero que me recuerdes; espero que me extrañes. Y si sea posible en el futuro que nos reunamos, espero que me esperes. Adios, mi corazón. Que te vaya increíble, Valparaíso.
17 July 2005
Celebración de la Virgen del Carmen
La Tirana, Chile
We left our hotels late at night to catch the short bus ride from Iquique to La Tirana. Carrie was very excited to go because we were going to see a catholic celebration. I would have been happy to spend more time in Iquique (or sleeping), but she insisted, so we went.
After we arrived in the parking lot of La Tirana's festival, we made our way through a huge mass of stalls selling rosaries, crucifixes, Jesus candles and various other items. Capitalism meets Catholiciscm and the result was rather terrifying, so we made our way to the main celebration.
It was certainly large and easy to find - there were huge crowds and many different performances. Various groups of dancers with costumes ranging from traditional Chilean dresses to shiny circus attire to native American outfits. We were particularly confused by a small group of dancers whose costumes were based of off native American clothing local to North America, which seemed out of place in South America and especially at a Christian festival, but the dances were interesting. The dancing was occasionally interrupted by (or simply interspersed with) lengthy 'hail mary' chants (or the Spanish equivalent) and sporadic fireworks. On the whole, it was basically Carnival with some extra Catholicism.
And it was cold. We eventually huddled with most of the crowds into the few buildings nearby, where young groups of children in identical outfits (boyscouts from different regions, perhaps?) paraded through with large banners. After watching a few more of these, we headed back to Iquique for the night. It was an interesting experience, but not one that I would suggest to anyone other than the very devout or rather bored. Next up: Bolivia!
After we arrived in the parking lot of La Tirana's festival, we made our way through a huge mass of stalls selling rosaries, crucifixes, Jesus candles and various other items. Capitalism meets Catholiciscm and the result was rather terrifying, so we made our way to the main celebration.
It was certainly large and easy to find - there were huge crowds and many different performances. Various groups of dancers with costumes ranging from traditional Chilean dresses to shiny circus attire to native American outfits. We were particularly confused by a small group of dancers whose costumes were based of off native American clothing local to North America, which seemed out of place in South America and especially at a Christian festival, but the dances were interesting. The dancing was occasionally interrupted by (or simply interspersed with) lengthy 'hail mary' chants (or the Spanish equivalent) and sporadic fireworks. On the whole, it was basically Carnival with some extra Catholicism.
And it was cold. We eventually huddled with most of the crowds into the few buildings nearby, where young groups of children in identical outfits (boyscouts from different regions, perhaps?) paraded through with large banners. After watching a few more of these, we headed back to Iquique for the night. It was an interesting experience, but not one that I would suggest to anyone other than the very devout or rather bored. Next up: Bolivia!
16 July 2005
"I was just guardaring it": Iquique, Chile
Our next destination after San Pedro was Iquique, a costal town in northern Chile. Our purpose was to see the Celebración de la Virgen del Carmen, a yearly festival in nearby La Tirana that Carrie was hell-bent on visiting. So it is that we arrived in Iquique at around 5:30 in the morning with no clue as to where to find a hostel. Unlike San Pedro, Iquique is a huge city, and rather intimidating at the sketchy bus station at this hour in the morning. We were prepared to wait until the sun came out before venturing out in search of accommodations, but a sweet woman who'd been on the bus with us offered to give us a ride when her brother came to pick her up. As her brother was a local, he knew of some hostels that would be available at the time.
This turned out to be a rather lucky break as, due to the festival, there were almost no vacancies in the city and we would have probably wandered for hours before finding an available room. We thanked him and his sister profusely as they dropped us off at an available hostel and made our way inside. The woman who was working at the time told us the prices and, after we payed for the duration of our stay, showed us to a room, where we unpacked and then lay down to take a nap until daytime. At around 9:30 in the morning, however, we had a knock on the door - the maid was not aware that we had just arrived and was told to knock on the doors of people who were expected to leave that day so that they would not miss the 10 am check-out time. Nice. After we cleared up this misunderstanding, she asked us to switch rooms, as there was a new double available, and we'd been using a triple because it was the only vacant room at the time. So, we moved our stuff to the next room, napped for a bit more, and then left to explore the city. On our way out, the woman at the door (different from the night before) asked us about payment. We told her we had already paid and asked if she needed to see the receipt. No no, she replied, that was fine. And so we left.
We spent an hour or so at a nearby internet cafe - Carrie talking with Hugo over MSN, and me checking email and uploading photos. Afterwards, we had a delicious meal at a tiny restaurant near the ocean, run by a very sweet woman and her daughter, who told us a bit about the festival in La Tirana. According to them, the best time to be there was the night the 16th (that evening) at midnight, as that was when all the fireworks went off. We'd previously intended to go the next day, so this changed our plans a bit, but it was very helpful to talk with them. They also warned us against thieves at the festival and in Iquique during the week of the festival. They suggested that we carefully guard our money and cameras on our persons at all times and that we always say that we are from Valparaíso (and not neighboring Viña del Mar, where Carrie lived, because it was considered to be a rich community). After our delicious lunch, we went to the coast to sit and write for a while until it chilled and got a bit windy, at which point we moved our writing to a cafe a couple of blocks away.
As we sat talking and drinking tea, two guys from a nearby table moved and asked if they could sit with us. We agreed, and they asked us where we were from. With the advice of the restaurant owner in mind, we replied that we were students in Valparaíso, and received a rather unexpected answer from them: "No, WE'RE from Valparaíso, where are you from?" We laughed at being so automatically caught (as if a blonde and a very pale brunette could pass as latinas...) and acquiesced that we were just studying abroad, but were from the U.S.. These two Chileans, though originally from Valparaíso, were doing a year-long project in Iquique as part of their Engineering program in Valpo. We talked for a while about Valparaíso and travel in general, and then went our separate ways. (The two invited us to go dancing that night but, seeing as we had only hiking boots on our feet and intentions to be in La Tirana that night, we declined).
Upon returning to the hostel, we were once accosted, by a third woman, regarding payment. Rather annoyed, we responded that we'd already paid and then had to argue with her for a while, as she insisted that we were short one night, referring to the morning we arrived. We explained that we'd arrived early that same morning, not the night before and after a bit more arguing, she left us alone.
Rather untrusting of the hostel at this point, we locked our bags under our beds before leaving for La Tirana, bundled up with our cameras and keys inside the waistbands of our pants (not an attractive look for women, as it turns out). And we were off to La Tirana (see that entry for more detail).
When we returned, we were again harassed about money before allowed to go back to our room. Then next morning, we were awoken again at 9:30, though we weren't scheduled to leave until the next morning. Carrie went back to sleep, but I stayed up to write. As we had no electrical outlets in our room, I went to a chair in the hallway to write and plugged my camera battery charger into an outlet a few feet above my head as I sat and wrote postcards. A few hours later, when I got up to leave, my camera battery was gone. Confused and flustered, I looked around for a while before returning to our room. Carrie was still in bed, so I fished around in my bag for a map of Iquique, intent on going to the tech-mall nearby to buy a new camera battery. Carrie heard me rustling around and asked what had happened. I explained the scenario and she asked if I had left it at all. I replied that I had not, and that no guests had passed that morning (though the maid had walked by). Carrie went into bad-cop mode (normally my job, but I was rather shaken by having lost an item from 2 feet above my head), got dressed, and marched downstairs to talk to the woman in charge.
A few minutes later, she came back with my camera battery. Apparently the woman had taken it to "guardar" (hold on to/protect) it, as she claimed no one had been near the battery. Now, I don't know how she managed to take it without my noticing, or how she possibly managed to not see me, but at least I got my camera battery back (not worth much at all, but as it was my only one, rather important to my ability to take photos).
After this little adventure, we spent the day relaxing, walking around the town, visiting the market, and using the internet cafe. Naturally, upon returning, we had to deal with another woman regarding money (this is the 5th supervisor we've had an argument with, at this point). This time I took the angry position of explaining, slowly and firmly, the (very simple) mathematics involved in the situation and showing the receipt of payment that matched that math perfectly. Annoyed, this woman let us go, and we left the next morning without allowing for more argument. Onward to Peru.
This turned out to be a rather lucky break as, due to the festival, there were almost no vacancies in the city and we would have probably wandered for hours before finding an available room. We thanked him and his sister profusely as they dropped us off at an available hostel and made our way inside. The woman who was working at the time told us the prices and, after we payed for the duration of our stay, showed us to a room, where we unpacked and then lay down to take a nap until daytime. At around 9:30 in the morning, however, we had a knock on the door - the maid was not aware that we had just arrived and was told to knock on the doors of people who were expected to leave that day so that they would not miss the 10 am check-out time. Nice. After we cleared up this misunderstanding, she asked us to switch rooms, as there was a new double available, and we'd been using a triple because it was the only vacant room at the time. So, we moved our stuff to the next room, napped for a bit more, and then left to explore the city. On our way out, the woman at the door (different from the night before) asked us about payment. We told her we had already paid and asked if she needed to see the receipt. No no, she replied, that was fine. And so we left.
We spent an hour or so at a nearby internet cafe - Carrie talking with Hugo over MSN, and me checking email and uploading photos. Afterwards, we had a delicious meal at a tiny restaurant near the ocean, run by a very sweet woman and her daughter, who told us a bit about the festival in La Tirana. According to them, the best time to be there was the night the 16th (that evening) at midnight, as that was when all the fireworks went off. We'd previously intended to go the next day, so this changed our plans a bit, but it was very helpful to talk with them. They also warned us against thieves at the festival and in Iquique during the week of the festival. They suggested that we carefully guard our money and cameras on our persons at all times and that we always say that we are from Valparaíso (and not neighboring Viña del Mar, where Carrie lived, because it was considered to be a rich community). After our delicious lunch, we went to the coast to sit and write for a while until it chilled and got a bit windy, at which point we moved our writing to a cafe a couple of blocks away.
As we sat talking and drinking tea, two guys from a nearby table moved and asked if they could sit with us. We agreed, and they asked us where we were from. With the advice of the restaurant owner in mind, we replied that we were students in Valparaíso, and received a rather unexpected answer from them: "No, WE'RE from Valparaíso, where are you from?" We laughed at being so automatically caught (as if a blonde and a very pale brunette could pass as latinas...) and acquiesced that we were just studying abroad, but were from the U.S.. These two Chileans, though originally from Valparaíso, were doing a year-long project in Iquique as part of their Engineering program in Valpo. We talked for a while about Valparaíso and travel in general, and then went our separate ways. (The two invited us to go dancing that night but, seeing as we had only hiking boots on our feet and intentions to be in La Tirana that night, we declined).
Upon returning to the hostel, we were once accosted, by a third woman, regarding payment. Rather annoyed, we responded that we'd already paid and then had to argue with her for a while, as she insisted that we were short one night, referring to the morning we arrived. We explained that we'd arrived early that same morning, not the night before and after a bit more arguing, she left us alone.
Rather untrusting of the hostel at this point, we locked our bags under our beds before leaving for La Tirana, bundled up with our cameras and keys inside the waistbands of our pants (not an attractive look for women, as it turns out). And we were off to La Tirana (see that entry for more detail).
When we returned, we were again harassed about money before allowed to go back to our room. Then next morning, we were awoken again at 9:30, though we weren't scheduled to leave until the next morning. Carrie went back to sleep, but I stayed up to write. As we had no electrical outlets in our room, I went to a chair in the hallway to write and plugged my camera battery charger into an outlet a few feet above my head as I sat and wrote postcards. A few hours later, when I got up to leave, my camera battery was gone. Confused and flustered, I looked around for a while before returning to our room. Carrie was still in bed, so I fished around in my bag for a map of Iquique, intent on going to the tech-mall nearby to buy a new camera battery. Carrie heard me rustling around and asked what had happened. I explained the scenario and she asked if I had left it at all. I replied that I had not, and that no guests had passed that morning (though the maid had walked by). Carrie went into bad-cop mode (normally my job, but I was rather shaken by having lost an item from 2 feet above my head), got dressed, and marched downstairs to talk to the woman in charge.
A few minutes later, she came back with my camera battery. Apparently the woman had taken it to "guardar" (hold on to/protect) it, as she claimed no one had been near the battery. Now, I don't know how she managed to take it without my noticing, or how she possibly managed to not see me, but at least I got my camera battery back (not worth much at all, but as it was my only one, rather important to my ability to take photos).
After this little adventure, we spent the day relaxing, walking around the town, visiting the market, and using the internet cafe. Naturally, upon returning, we had to deal with another woman regarding money (this is the 5th supervisor we've had an argument with, at this point). This time I took the angry position of explaining, slowly and firmly, the (very simple) mathematics involved in the situation and showing the receipt of payment that matched that math perfectly. Annoyed, this woman let us go, and we left the next morning without allowing for more argument. Onward to Peru.
14 July 2005
San Pedro de Atacama: Desierto de Atacama, Chile
San Pedro de Atacama is a very small village. It is the most well-known oasis of the Atacama desert, in part because of its central location, and in part because it is actually the largest of the oases. Due to its popularity and thriving tourist industry, San Pedro is the starting point for most visits to the valles, salares, and geysers of the Atacama. Filled with reasonably-priced hostels aimed at backpackers and student travellers, San Pedro was also the ideal starting point for our trip.
Despite its size, San Pedro has a lot to offer to travelers. In addition to the hostels and the location, it is rife with shops and services of all kinds. Restaurants, pottery stores, shops selling jewelry or woven goods, stalls selling homemade bags and tea and masks and plates... As well as various bike-rental shops and internet cafes that could transfer digital photos onto a CD (thereby allowing the tourists to take even more photos the next day).
We spent our first evening in San Pedro wandering around the streets, poking into the handcraft shops that looked interesting. We booked a two-day tour package offered by our hotel, in order to visit the salar, valles, lagunas, and geysers in our short stay, and then continued our wanderings. For such a tiny city (there couldn't possibly be more than 3 square city blocks in the entire town), we got turned around and lost quite often. More than anything, for me the difficulty was being away from water. If there's an ocean or a river, I can navigate a city based off of that. Since we'd spent the past six months living in Valparaíso, where we could clearly orient ourselves based off of the ocean on one side and the cerros on the other, being transplanted to a flat, arid, desert city full of similar-looking buildings made of adobe and thatched roofs... well, it was disorienting, to say the least.
In our explorations, we came across a pottery shop in an open yard. An old man was there at the time, working at the pottery wheel on a new project, and talking to a visitor. After the visitor left, he started to talk to us as well. As it turns out, he had made most of the art on display, and his work was also currently on exhibition at the San Pedro Museum. We talked about how we were studying in Valparaiso, but from the states, and he said that he had traveled to the states. Apparently, he had spent a signifigant amount of time in Berkeley, and taught a pottery workshop there for a bit.
We thanked him for his time and for talking to us, and he suggested that we go to the museum, not only to see his work but also because it was supposed to have incredible exhibits about the history of the region. The museum was already closed by this time, but we promised that we would go there before we left.
Our next two days were mainly filled by visits to the salar, lagunas, valles, oases, and geysers of the desert (see previous entry)
After our two days of sight-seeing around the desert, we went to the San Pedro Museum, which was highly recommended by both our books as well as by the potter we'd met earlier. The main exhibits pertained to the history of the Atacama region and to the indiginous people who had lived there. There was also an art gallery in which we found work by the potter, as well as a variety of beautiful paintings.
Despite its size, San Pedro has a lot to offer to travelers. In addition to the hostels and the location, it is rife with shops and services of all kinds. Restaurants, pottery stores, shops selling jewelry or woven goods, stalls selling homemade bags and tea and masks and plates... As well as various bike-rental shops and internet cafes that could transfer digital photos onto a CD (thereby allowing the tourists to take even more photos the next day).
We spent our first evening in San Pedro wandering around the streets, poking into the handcraft shops that looked interesting. We booked a two-day tour package offered by our hotel, in order to visit the salar, valles, lagunas, and geysers in our short stay, and then continued our wanderings. For such a tiny city (there couldn't possibly be more than 3 square city blocks in the entire town), we got turned around and lost quite often. More than anything, for me the difficulty was being away from water. If there's an ocean or a river, I can navigate a city based off of that. Since we'd spent the past six months living in Valparaíso, where we could clearly orient ourselves based off of the ocean on one side and the cerros on the other, being transplanted to a flat, arid, desert city full of similar-looking buildings made of adobe and thatched roofs... well, it was disorienting, to say the least.
In our explorations, we came across a pottery shop in an open yard. An old man was there at the time, working at the pottery wheel on a new project, and talking to a visitor. After the visitor left, he started to talk to us as well. As it turns out, he had made most of the art on display, and his work was also currently on exhibition at the San Pedro Museum. We talked about how we were studying in Valparaiso, but from the states, and he said that he had traveled to the states. Apparently, he had spent a signifigant amount of time in Berkeley, and taught a pottery workshop there for a bit.
We thanked him for his time and for talking to us, and he suggested that we go to the museum, not only to see his work but also because it was supposed to have incredible exhibits about the history of the region. The museum was already closed by this time, but we promised that we would go there before we left.
Our next two days were mainly filled by visits to the salar, lagunas, valles, oases, and geysers of the desert (see previous entry)
After our two days of sight-seeing around the desert, we went to the San Pedro Museum, which was highly recommended by both our books as well as by the potter we'd met earlier. The main exhibits pertained to the history of the Atacama region and to the indiginous people who had lived there. There was also an art gallery in which we found work by the potter, as well as a variety of beautiful paintings.
13 July 2005
Salares, Lagunas, y Oases: Desierto de Atacama, Chile
Our first stop on the JessieAndCarrieTravellingExperience (henceforth referred to as "JACTE"), was San Pedro de Atacama. That is, the village of San Pedro, located in the Atacama Desert. For those of you for whom this name does not ring a bell, for shame! The Atacama Desert is the driest desert in the world, and comprises approximately the upper third of Chile. San Pedro is one of the many Oases of the desert, and I will describe more about San Pedro itself in another entry. For now, all you need know is that it was the home base of our adventures for the first few days. The hostel we stayed at offered a really cheap tour package, that went to all the places we had been planning to visit (read: lusting after in our little American guide books). The Salar de Atacama, Valle de la Luna, Valle de la Muerte, and El Tatio Geysers. It also included trips to the lagunas, various Oases, Las Tres Marias, and Mirador, all in two days total, so of course we were very excited.
DAY ONE - Our first day started with a trip to the Gran Salar (great salt lake) de Atacama. My memory isn't perfect, so correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that this is the third largest salt lake in the world, after the ones in Salt Lake City, Utah and one in southern Bolivia. The main lure to this salar seems to be that you can see flamingos. Personally, I wasn't too excited about the flamingos, and therefore not particularly upset that they were distant and hard to see. The texture of the ground was amazing though - salt lakes are formed by salt water lakes that dry up and just leave the salt formations, which look...well, like huge salt crystals all over the ground. There were some areas where there was still water - in the form of small and large lakes, as well as rivers. Some of the rivers were amazing colors - reds and oranges and browns and greens... It was beautiful! We could also see the mountains in the distance.
After the Salar, we drove to the Lagunas ("lakes") Miscanti and Miñiques, named after the volcanoes they neighbor. The lakes were deep, clear blue, bordered by the tan sands and the grey-blue volcanoes, with strips of snow... As usual, my abilities with a camera do not fully capture the beauty of the region - the contrast, the textures... Sometimes on our trip I worried about becoming numb to beauty if we stayed there too long, if we were able to become accustomed to our surroundings. We walked along a road for a while and often saw piles of rocks on the side of the road. At one point, Carrie turned to me and asked me which animal I thought had made it... um, backpackers? I'm surprised she's never seen them before, but it was entertaining.
We went to lunch in Socaire, a small oasis between the Salar and the Lagunas. The food was delicious and the people in our tour group were interesting and friendly, for the most part. A french couple was rather incommunicative, but there were some Spanish-speakers and a couple of (Dutch, we think) women who spoke English. The meal was a huge, delicious plate of chicken and salad with a delicious grain (the name of which I have forgotten) unique to the region, soup, and homemade bread with pebre (sort of salsa, for spreading on bread). Way too much food for me, but Carrie, who eats about twice her bodyweight at every meal, was well-fed for the first (and pretty much last) time on our trip.
On our way back to the hostel, we stopped at Toconao, another oasis. Way more vegetated than Socaire or San Pedro, Toconao has a huge plant-reservation that we got to walk through - full of gorgeous and lush plants, in the middle of the desert! There was also a plaza with a cool statue and a bell tower. and there were a couple kids playing on and around the statue that were just so cute! Toconao was the last stop on our first day. We came home and went to sleep early in preparation for an early start the next day.
DAY TWO - And by an early start, I mean ridiculously so. We left at 4 AM, at which point it was (below) freezing cold. As per our friend Kevin's suggestion, we tried to bring our blankets from the hostel beds, but one of the hostel workers caught us and made us put them back. The tour guide, who also works for the hostel, thought that was stupid and that we should have been able to keep the blankets. We were annoyed, tired, and cranky about it, but had no idea what we were in for. The El Tatio Geysers, at high elevation in the driest desert in the world, have a temperature of approximately 14 degrees below zero. Celsius. Personally, I was wearing two pairs of tights, one pair of leggings, jeans, three thermal shirts, a jacket, a vest, my huge wool coat from Chiloe, three pairs of socks, hiking boots, gloves, a scarf, and two hats. I couldn't feel my feet, face or hands. Carrie was less prepared and couldn't stand the temperature. Rather than waiting for the sunrise outside, she retreated to the tour van to hide by the heater in the front seat. The view was worth the discomfort. The Geysers released a steady stream of steam and a small pattern of mini-rivers across the ground, which froze in the air before our eyes. As the sun rose, the colors on the mountains changed, and we could see the sunlight creeping across the ground. After a small breakfast provided by our tour group, we moved to a different part of the geysers, where the springs of hot water had created a natural hot tub. We got to go swimming (well, sitting), which was a wonderful way to warm up. Also, there was a large group of French students (I'd say around 17 or 18 years old) that were extremely loud and obnoxious. It was frustrating, but it was nice that it was a group of French students for a change. We didn't have to be embarrassed by the poorly behaved tourists from America this time! Sometimes, it's the little things...
On our way back to San Pedro, we stopped by a tiny oasis (the name of which I've forgotten) with a permanent population of about thirty people. We wandered a bit, and got tea for Carrie, who wasn't feeling well. Possibly from the cold, possibly altitude sickness, possibly because of not eating enough (this last one was her opinion - I think we were eating more than enough for two five-foot tall women). In the oasis, there were small figures outside some houses, made from rocks, which were interesting. We then went back to San Pedro for a few hours before our evening trip to the valleys.
Our first stop in the evening was Mirador, an elevated location from which we could see down into the valleys of the desert. Once again, I was amazed by the expanse of the desert. It is at once beautiful and terrifying - beautiful for the colors and textures and novelty of desert, terrifying for the reality of its deadliness. Can you imagine being stranded here? It's just sand. Dry, lifeless sand for miles in every direction. Sand that burns in the daytime and has temperatures of well below freezing at night. No water, no vegetation, no life. It's extremely intimidating in this light, and makes the oases seem that much more lively and vital in comparison.
After Mirador, we went to Valle de la Muerte (Valley of Death), so named because a frenchman's pronunciation of Marte (Mars) was so strongly accented that it sounded like Muerte (death). There was no tragic event involved in the naming of the valley. It was meant to be named for the red hues and other-worldly sand- and rock-formations. We walked across a section of this valley before getting picked up by our tour bus again to move on.
Our next destination, Las Tres Marias (the three Marys) is a group of rock formations said to look like three versions of the virgin mary. To each his own, I suppose. I can see one human-like figure in the center, but I think the other two are quite a stretch. To be fair, the people who named these rocks were probably dehydrated and delirious from the altitude at the time, so allowances must be made for such names. Personally, I was more intrigued by the rock formation that looks like the head of a turtle from one angle and a fist from a different angle.
Our final stop was Valle de la Luna (Valley of the Moon), which was simply breathtaking. Literally. We climbed a large sand dune in order to get to a higher point to see the light change colors on the Andes as the sun set. Combined with the high altitude and dry air, this seemingly-simple hike left us gasping for breath and pausing to gulp down water. In the middle of one of many such pauses, an older woman walking in flip flops and a skirt, lit cigarette in one hand, walked calmly past. That was embarrassing. We did indeed make it to our destination before the sun set, and the view was beautiful. We could see down into all the mini-valleys, and also see the andes. As I mentioned previously, the draw of sunset at Valle de la Luna is not the sunset itself, but rather the color play it creates across the Andes. The sun was pretty much gone by the time we returned to our bus, but the view that evening was absolutely beautiful.
DAY ONE - Our first day started with a trip to the Gran Salar (great salt lake) de Atacama. My memory isn't perfect, so correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that this is the third largest salt lake in the world, after the ones in Salt Lake City, Utah and one in southern Bolivia. The main lure to this salar seems to be that you can see flamingos. Personally, I wasn't too excited about the flamingos, and therefore not particularly upset that they were distant and hard to see. The texture of the ground was amazing though - salt lakes are formed by salt water lakes that dry up and just leave the salt formations, which look...well, like huge salt crystals all over the ground. There were some areas where there was still water - in the form of small and large lakes, as well as rivers. Some of the rivers were amazing colors - reds and oranges and browns and greens... It was beautiful! We could also see the mountains in the distance.
After the Salar, we drove to the Lagunas ("lakes") Miscanti and Miñiques, named after the volcanoes they neighbor. The lakes were deep, clear blue, bordered by the tan sands and the grey-blue volcanoes, with strips of snow... As usual, my abilities with a camera do not fully capture the beauty of the region - the contrast, the textures... Sometimes on our trip I worried about becoming numb to beauty if we stayed there too long, if we were able to become accustomed to our surroundings. We walked along a road for a while and often saw piles of rocks on the side of the road. At one point, Carrie turned to me and asked me which animal I thought had made it... um, backpackers? I'm surprised she's never seen them before, but it was entertaining.
We went to lunch in Socaire, a small oasis between the Salar and the Lagunas. The food was delicious and the people in our tour group were interesting and friendly, for the most part. A french couple was rather incommunicative, but there were some Spanish-speakers and a couple of (Dutch, we think) women who spoke English. The meal was a huge, delicious plate of chicken and salad with a delicious grain (the name of which I have forgotten) unique to the region, soup, and homemade bread with pebre (sort of salsa, for spreading on bread). Way too much food for me, but Carrie, who eats about twice her bodyweight at every meal, was well-fed for the first (and pretty much last) time on our trip.
On our way back to the hostel, we stopped at Toconao, another oasis. Way more vegetated than Socaire or San Pedro, Toconao has a huge plant-reservation that we got to walk through - full of gorgeous and lush plants, in the middle of the desert! There was also a plaza with a cool statue and a bell tower. and there were a couple kids playing on and around the statue that were just so cute! Toconao was the last stop on our first day. We came home and went to sleep early in preparation for an early start the next day.
DAY TWO - And by an early start, I mean ridiculously so. We left at 4 AM, at which point it was (below) freezing cold. As per our friend Kevin's suggestion, we tried to bring our blankets from the hostel beds, but one of the hostel workers caught us and made us put them back. The tour guide, who also works for the hostel, thought that was stupid and that we should have been able to keep the blankets. We were annoyed, tired, and cranky about it, but had no idea what we were in for. The El Tatio Geysers, at high elevation in the driest desert in the world, have a temperature of approximately 14 degrees below zero. Celsius. Personally, I was wearing two pairs of tights, one pair of leggings, jeans, three thermal shirts, a jacket, a vest, my huge wool coat from Chiloe, three pairs of socks, hiking boots, gloves, a scarf, and two hats. I couldn't feel my feet, face or hands. Carrie was less prepared and couldn't stand the temperature. Rather than waiting for the sunrise outside, she retreated to the tour van to hide by the heater in the front seat. The view was worth the discomfort. The Geysers released a steady stream of steam and a small pattern of mini-rivers across the ground, which froze in the air before our eyes. As the sun rose, the colors on the mountains changed, and we could see the sunlight creeping across the ground. After a small breakfast provided by our tour group, we moved to a different part of the geysers, where the springs of hot water had created a natural hot tub. We got to go swimming (well, sitting), which was a wonderful way to warm up. Also, there was a large group of French students (I'd say around 17 or 18 years old) that were extremely loud and obnoxious. It was frustrating, but it was nice that it was a group of French students for a change. We didn't have to be embarrassed by the poorly behaved tourists from America this time! Sometimes, it's the little things...
On our way back to San Pedro, we stopped by a tiny oasis (the name of which I've forgotten) with a permanent population of about thirty people. We wandered a bit, and got tea for Carrie, who wasn't feeling well. Possibly from the cold, possibly altitude sickness, possibly because of not eating enough (this last one was her opinion - I think we were eating more than enough for two five-foot tall women). In the oasis, there were small figures outside some houses, made from rocks, which were interesting. We then went back to San Pedro for a few hours before our evening trip to the valleys.
Our first stop in the evening was Mirador, an elevated location from which we could see down into the valleys of the desert. Once again, I was amazed by the expanse of the desert. It is at once beautiful and terrifying - beautiful for the colors and textures and novelty of desert, terrifying for the reality of its deadliness. Can you imagine being stranded here? It's just sand. Dry, lifeless sand for miles in every direction. Sand that burns in the daytime and has temperatures of well below freezing at night. No water, no vegetation, no life. It's extremely intimidating in this light, and makes the oases seem that much more lively and vital in comparison.
After Mirador, we went to Valle de la Muerte (Valley of Death), so named because a frenchman's pronunciation of Marte (Mars) was so strongly accented that it sounded like Muerte (death). There was no tragic event involved in the naming of the valley. It was meant to be named for the red hues and other-worldly sand- and rock-formations. We walked across a section of this valley before getting picked up by our tour bus again to move on.
Our next destination, Las Tres Marias (the three Marys) is a group of rock formations said to look like three versions of the virgin mary. To each his own, I suppose. I can see one human-like figure in the center, but I think the other two are quite a stretch. To be fair, the people who named these rocks were probably dehydrated and delirious from the altitude at the time, so allowances must be made for such names. Personally, I was more intrigued by the rock formation that looks like the head of a turtle from one angle and a fist from a different angle.
Our final stop was Valle de la Luna (Valley of the Moon), which was simply breathtaking. Literally. We climbed a large sand dune in order to get to a higher point to see the light change colors on the Andes as the sun set. Combined with the high altitude and dry air, this seemingly-simple hike left us gasping for breath and pausing to gulp down water. In the middle of one of many such pauses, an older woman walking in flip flops and a skirt, lit cigarette in one hand, walked calmly past. That was embarrassing. We did indeed make it to our destination before the sun set, and the view was beautiful. We could see down into all the mini-valleys, and also see the andes. As I mentioned previously, the draw of sunset at Valle de la Luna is not the sunset itself, but rather the color play it creates across the Andes. The sun was pretty much gone by the time we returned to our bus, but the view that evening was absolutely beautiful.
02 July 2005
Reserva Nacional los Cipruses: Cajón del Maipo, Chile
Steph and I decided to go to Reserva Nacional los Cipruses (a small park in Cajón del Maipo) as one of her last excursions in Chile. We started the day with a phone call - her to me - because I had gone dancing the night before and overslept my alarm. She apparently had waited over an hour, allowing ample time for Chilean-time adjustments to our pre-arranged meeting time, and then gone home and called me. I arrived spouting apologies and offers of cookies to make my way back into her good graces, but none were necessary, as she wasn't in fact angry.
At about 10 am, we therefore made our way to the bus station to catch a bus to Santiago. Upon arriving in Santiago, we took the metro to a station that my guidebook indicated. The book said to leave the metro station and catch a micro (minibus) at Paradero 15 (bus stop 15). We assumed that it would be a regular street-side bus stop, and even ventured a guess that it would be between paraderos 14 and 16. Silly gringas... after wandering around the station for a while (and successfully ignoring the tempting-looking fudge stand all three times we backtracked past it), we asked for directions from a man directing taxis. He waved us in the direction of the nearby, large building full of stores and said to go downstairs.
So, after passing the fudge stand once more and going down the stairs inside the building, we found ourselves back at the metro station. We wandered to a parking garage and asked a lady selling costumes there where we could find Paradero 15. "¿Adónde van?", she asked us. When we told her our intended destination (Cajón del Maipo), she told us where to go and warned that we would get wet in the rain. Well, that "rain" was little more then a light drizzle and we did have raincoats and rainpants. As for the elusive Paradero 15 - that was the entire building.
After finding the correct micro on the second try (having been once again led astray by our guidebook), we were on our way to the reserve. Truth be told, we were just ready to guess at the correct stop (surely a national reserve has at least a small sign?) but as the micro got further from Santiago, we saw no indications of the reserve. We did, however, pass a large and touristy vineyard, at which point the chofer, who up to this point had not been announcing stops, yells out, "La viña! We're passing the viña! Anyone who wants to visit the viña should get off!" Neither Steph nor I made any move to get off the bus, so a female passenger tapped me on the shoulder and asked if we were looking for the vineyard. How successfully we two white women have blended into the fabric of Chilean society in comfortable anonymity.
As the drizzle turned to a light rain and back again and all the other passengers gradually left the bus, we still saw no sign of our reserve. We therefore made our way to the front of the now-empty bus to check with the driver.
I spoke up, "excuse me, we're looking for-"
"I announced it," he interrupted, "I called out many times when we passed the-"
"We don't want to go to the vineyard," I interjected. We told him that we were, in fact, heading for the national reserve.
"Oh, we're almost there right now," he replied. Then, looking us over, "you're going to get wet."
When we arrived at the reserve, we went into the hut at the entrance to purchase our entrance tickets. The ranger on duty reluctantly got up from where he was resting on the sofa to come talk to us. Rather, to come stare at us, as he seemed not at all inclined to begin any conversation. After looking at each other for a few seconds, Steph and I informed the ranger that we wanted to visit the reserve.
"Because of the weather conditions," he responded after a pause, "we don't recommend entering the reserve."
Another awkward pause, and then Steph replied, "Um... could we go anyway?"
Two blinks. "We really don't recommend entering the reserve."
"Yes, but can we go anyway?"
Yet another pause, then the ranger walked over to the desk and pulled out a map of the reserve, "The trails are not safe to walk on, you will have to stay on the main road only." We agreed and paid the entrance fee, and he gave us our tickets. Just before we left, he told us, "Go out the door, turn left, and stay on the road. Don't leave the main road." We nodded, relieved to not have to resort to a pitiful "can we go anyway?" for a third time. "You're going to get wet," he added as we walked out the door.
Upon exiting the hut, we saw two roads leading into the reserve: one that went straight, and one that went to the right. We contemplated how much of the little faith the ranger had in us would be lost if we returned and asked if by "left" he meant right or straight. We didn't have to ask, as he noticed our hesitation when he came to close the door. Exasperated, he repeated slowly, pointing to the path straight ahead, "Go Left And Don't Leave The Main Road". Then he closed the door to return to the sofa, so we missed the muttered "stupid gringas," if he bothered to say it aloud at all.
We walked in the reserve for a few hours, straying only once from the main road (for the specific purpose of taking a picture of Stephanie on the "dangerous" trail - a slightly damp grassy dirt path about 4 feet wide - indeed she was almost washed away by the torrents of... drizzle. The plants were lovely, but not the views were not spectacular, as we couldn't safely leave the main road, and after a few hours we turned back around to return to Santiago for sushi. Before being allowed into any restaurant, however, we had to dry off - we were indeed soaked.
At about 10 am, we therefore made our way to the bus station to catch a bus to Santiago. Upon arriving in Santiago, we took the metro to a station that my guidebook indicated. The book said to leave the metro station and catch a micro (minibus) at Paradero 15 (bus stop 15). We assumed that it would be a regular street-side bus stop, and even ventured a guess that it would be between paraderos 14 and 16. Silly gringas... after wandering around the station for a while (and successfully ignoring the tempting-looking fudge stand all three times we backtracked past it), we asked for directions from a man directing taxis. He waved us in the direction of the nearby, large building full of stores and said to go downstairs.
So, after passing the fudge stand once more and going down the stairs inside the building, we found ourselves back at the metro station. We wandered to a parking garage and asked a lady selling costumes there where we could find Paradero 15. "¿Adónde van?", she asked us. When we told her our intended destination (Cajón del Maipo), she told us where to go and warned that we would get wet in the rain. Well, that "rain" was little more then a light drizzle and we did have raincoats and rainpants. As for the elusive Paradero 15 - that was the entire building.
After finding the correct micro on the second try (having been once again led astray by our guidebook), we were on our way to the reserve. Truth be told, we were just ready to guess at the correct stop (surely a national reserve has at least a small sign?) but as the micro got further from Santiago, we saw no indications of the reserve. We did, however, pass a large and touristy vineyard, at which point the chofer, who up to this point had not been announcing stops, yells out, "La viña! We're passing the viña! Anyone who wants to visit the viña should get off!" Neither Steph nor I made any move to get off the bus, so a female passenger tapped me on the shoulder and asked if we were looking for the vineyard. How successfully we two white women have blended into the fabric of Chilean society in comfortable anonymity.
As the drizzle turned to a light rain and back again and all the other passengers gradually left the bus, we still saw no sign of our reserve. We therefore made our way to the front of the now-empty bus to check with the driver.
I spoke up, "excuse me, we're looking for-"
"I announced it," he interrupted, "I called out many times when we passed the-"
"We don't want to go to the vineyard," I interjected. We told him that we were, in fact, heading for the national reserve.
"Oh, we're almost there right now," he replied. Then, looking us over, "you're going to get wet."
When we arrived at the reserve, we went into the hut at the entrance to purchase our entrance tickets. The ranger on duty reluctantly got up from where he was resting on the sofa to come talk to us. Rather, to come stare at us, as he seemed not at all inclined to begin any conversation. After looking at each other for a few seconds, Steph and I informed the ranger that we wanted to visit the reserve.
"Because of the weather conditions," he responded after a pause, "we don't recommend entering the reserve."
Another awkward pause, and then Steph replied, "Um... could we go anyway?"
Two blinks. "We really don't recommend entering the reserve."
"Yes, but can we go anyway?"
Yet another pause, then the ranger walked over to the desk and pulled out a map of the reserve, "The trails are not safe to walk on, you will have to stay on the main road only." We agreed and paid the entrance fee, and he gave us our tickets. Just before we left, he told us, "Go out the door, turn left, and stay on the road. Don't leave the main road." We nodded, relieved to not have to resort to a pitiful "can we go anyway?" for a third time. "You're going to get wet," he added as we walked out the door.
Upon exiting the hut, we saw two roads leading into the reserve: one that went straight, and one that went to the right. We contemplated how much of the little faith the ranger had in us would be lost if we returned and asked if by "left" he meant right or straight. We didn't have to ask, as he noticed our hesitation when he came to close the door. Exasperated, he repeated slowly, pointing to the path straight ahead, "Go Left And Don't Leave The Main Road". Then he closed the door to return to the sofa, so we missed the muttered "stupid gringas," if he bothered to say it aloud at all.
We walked in the reserve for a few hours, straying only once from the main road (for the specific purpose of taking a picture of Stephanie on the "dangerous" trail - a slightly damp grassy dirt path about 4 feet wide - indeed she was almost washed away by the torrents of... drizzle. The plants were lovely, but not the views were not spectacular, as we couldn't safely leave the main road, and after a few hours we turned back around to return to Santiago for sushi. Before being allowed into any restaurant, however, we had to dry off - we were indeed soaked.
28 June 2005
End of the Semester: Valparaíso, Chile
This semester ended rather anticlimactically - the finals process in Chile works in such a way that if you have the equivalent of a B or so in the course, you don't take a final. I therefore was exempt from all finals, except for Korean, which didn't follow this general rule.
Now, leading up to finals (for the last 2 months or so, actually), there were many paros, or strikes, at the university, resulting in one or more classes being cancelled every week, often for the entire week. Not only did this allow us only a portion of the planned course materials in Korean, which was affected the most by being a language class and only meeting once a week, but there was a police response. If the students marching and rioting weren't disconcerting enough, the police presence would seem to do the trick. Apparently, however, tear gas had to be added to the equation.
I was in the casa central of the university, along with many other students, when classes were stopped for a paro. On our way home in the micro bus, all the passengers started covering their noses with scarves as the policemen used tear gas on the rioting students. Now, I'm glad I wasn't one of those students, because even from the bus the tear gas was strong. Strong enough, in fact, that my vocal chords (or similar) were inflamed, and I lost my voice for a week or so. This was rather obnoxious, but became rather comical when I had to stage-whisper my answers to the Korean oral final across the room. Ah well. It's an experience, no?
With practically no real finals, I was free to spend most of my time planning for the 2-week trip that Carrie and I wanted to take through northern Chile, Bolivia, and Peru. So endeth my semester in Chile.
Now, leading up to finals (for the last 2 months or so, actually), there were many paros, or strikes, at the university, resulting in one or more classes being cancelled every week, often for the entire week. Not only did this allow us only a portion of the planned course materials in Korean, which was affected the most by being a language class and only meeting once a week, but there was a police response. If the students marching and rioting weren't disconcerting enough, the police presence would seem to do the trick. Apparently, however, tear gas had to be added to the equation.
I was in the casa central of the university, along with many other students, when classes were stopped for a paro. On our way home in the micro bus, all the passengers started covering their noses with scarves as the policemen used tear gas on the rioting students. Now, I'm glad I wasn't one of those students, because even from the bus the tear gas was strong. Strong enough, in fact, that my vocal chords (or similar) were inflamed, and I lost my voice for a week or so. This was rather obnoxious, but became rather comical when I had to stage-whisper my answers to the Korean oral final across the room. Ah well. It's an experience, no?
With practically no real finals, I was free to spend most of my time planning for the 2-week trip that Carrie and I wanted to take through northern Chile, Bolivia, and Peru. So endeth my semester in Chile.
10 May 2005
Suggestions: Valparaíso, Chile
Suggestions for people planning to come study or visit here:
(1) Do. By all means, if you have a chance to come to Chile, do so without hesitation (except for the time it takes you to buy a ticket, learn Spanish, and convince yourself that the Spanish you learned will be useless). That brings us to...
(2) For those of you at LC, read the book about chilean modismos that they give you in orientation. Perhaps in lieu of Spanish classes; the people here simply do not speak Spanish. They speak Chilean. Well, in the (paraphrased) words of a Chilean, "Todos los Chilenos hablamos tres idiomas: el Castellano, el Chileno, y puro huevon (accent on the o)" loosely translated (pardon the language): "all Chileans speak three languages: Castillian (Spanish), Chilean, and pure bullshit." To try to explain what you are going to be dealing with, I will give you some examples. They drop the "s" at the end of words. They leave out the "d" in past participles, they insert "po" (pues) at the end of every other sentence, speak more slang than proper spanish, and do not recognize some of the words that you were taught to use. Aguacate? Fresa? Novio? no no, palta, frutilla, and pololo, respectively. The most commonly word, scattered throughout any conversation, would be "¿cachai?" (accent on the i). This means "do you understand?" in second person singular. but chileans often use the vosotros form of a verb and just drop the s. Example: Como estai (accent on the i) instead of como estas (accent on the a)... Okay, since it is doubtful that anyone is still reading this, moving on...
(3) Bring an ISIC card and use it on the micros, because you won't get your matriculation card for a long time and otherwise you would have to pay twice as much for bus fare. The ISIC card will also work as an ID to get into clubs, bars, etc.
(4) Bring a stash of your favorite candy or, if you are so inclined, peanut butter. It's expensive here.
(5) Get classes with mainly chileans, and try to get classes that are required of first year students, since they are friendlier and less cliquish than older chilean students
(6) Go out. Preferably with Chileans. People here go out from around 10 pm to 6 am Thursday through Saturday night. Suggestions: La Torre (near the Casa Central), and Ache Havana (on Errazuriz).
(7) Travel. Both within Valparaiso/Viña del Mar and around Chile. Suggestions: Cerro La Campana, Chiloe (Castro, Dalcauhue and Cucau), Pucon (although you will go with CIEE if you study here for the semester), Machu Pichu and the ruins near Cusco(Peru), Lake Titicaca (Peru or Bolivia), Isla del Sol (Bolivia), and San Pedro de Atacama (in the north of Chile). Trips that other people have suggested: Buenos Aires, Mendoza (Argentina), Easter Island, the Amazon Rainforest, and Patagonia (in the south - easiest to go during the summer). Within Valparaiso, you should take the O micro, which drives through all the hills in Valpo, so you can see the city. Also, Playa Ancha, the southernmost cerro, is gorgeous. Cerro Alegre and Cerro Concepcion have a lot of cafes and are popular among tourists and students, and the flat area near the port is where a lot of the nightlife in Valpo is. The Botanical Garden (technically in Viña, I believe), is also lovely, and the beach in Viña is popular (check out the huge sand statues of animals - they change every few days).
(8) Use an ATM card instead of traveller's checks - the checks are a pain to cash and, as long as you take out money in large, infrequent blocks, you will not lose much through the fixed fee that your bank incurs.
(9) Explore the markets and ambulant vendors in northern Viña and downtown Valparaiso near Pedro Montt.
(10) Wander. Drag along a Chilean or another traveller, pick a street or a hill, and start walking. Don't get too lost, of course, and try to avoid the upper parts of the cerros, which are rather dangerous.
(1) Do. By all means, if you have a chance to come to Chile, do so without hesitation (except for the time it takes you to buy a ticket, learn Spanish, and convince yourself that the Spanish you learned will be useless). That brings us to...
(2) For those of you at LC, read the book about chilean modismos that they give you in orientation. Perhaps in lieu of Spanish classes; the people here simply do not speak Spanish. They speak Chilean. Well, in the (paraphrased) words of a Chilean, "Todos los Chilenos hablamos tres idiomas: el Castellano, el Chileno, y puro huevon (accent on the o)" loosely translated (pardon the language): "all Chileans speak three languages: Castillian (Spanish), Chilean, and pure bullshit." To try to explain what you are going to be dealing with, I will give you some examples. They drop the "s" at the end of words. They leave out the "d" in past participles, they insert "po" (pues) at the end of every other sentence, speak more slang than proper spanish, and do not recognize some of the words that you were taught to use. Aguacate? Fresa? Novio? no no, palta, frutilla, and pololo, respectively. The most commonly word, scattered throughout any conversation, would be "¿cachai?" (accent on the i). This means "do you understand?" in second person singular. but chileans often use the vosotros form of a verb and just drop the s. Example: Como estai (accent on the i) instead of como estas (accent on the a)... Okay, since it is doubtful that anyone is still reading this, moving on...
(3) Bring an ISIC card and use it on the micros, because you won't get your matriculation card for a long time and otherwise you would have to pay twice as much for bus fare. The ISIC card will also work as an ID to get into clubs, bars, etc.
(4) Bring a stash of your favorite candy or, if you are so inclined, peanut butter. It's expensive here.
(5) Get classes with mainly chileans, and try to get classes that are required of first year students, since they are friendlier and less cliquish than older chilean students
(6) Go out. Preferably with Chileans. People here go out from around 10 pm to 6 am Thursday through Saturday night. Suggestions: La Torre (near the Casa Central), and Ache Havana (on Errazuriz).
(7) Travel. Both within Valparaiso/Viña del Mar and around Chile. Suggestions: Cerro La Campana, Chiloe (Castro, Dalcauhue and Cucau), Pucon (although you will go with CIEE if you study here for the semester), Machu Pichu and the ruins near Cusco(Peru), Lake Titicaca (Peru or Bolivia), Isla del Sol (Bolivia), and San Pedro de Atacama (in the north of Chile). Trips that other people have suggested: Buenos Aires, Mendoza (Argentina), Easter Island, the Amazon Rainforest, and Patagonia (in the south - easiest to go during the summer). Within Valparaiso, you should take the O micro, which drives through all the hills in Valpo, so you can see the city. Also, Playa Ancha, the southernmost cerro, is gorgeous. Cerro Alegre and Cerro Concepcion have a lot of cafes and are popular among tourists and students, and the flat area near the port is where a lot of the nightlife in Valpo is. The Botanical Garden (technically in Viña, I believe), is also lovely, and the beach in Viña is popular (check out the huge sand statues of animals - they change every few days).
(8) Use an ATM card instead of traveller's checks - the checks are a pain to cash and, as long as you take out money in large, infrequent blocks, you will not lose much through the fixed fee that your bank incurs.
(9) Explore the markets and ambulant vendors in northern Viña and downtown Valparaiso near Pedro Montt.
(10) Wander. Drag along a Chilean or another traveller, pick a street or a hill, and start walking. Don't get too lost, of course, and try to avoid the upper parts of the cerros, which are rather dangerous.
02 May 2005
Classes: Valparaíso, Chile
Wow. It seems to be May now. I'm not quite sure how that happened, nor how to go about writing this entry since some of you know what's been going on and some of you don't and then there some things I will just not go into online... We'll just break it into categories... Classes, travel, people, random reflections on the overall experionce of being here, and suggestions for anyone else intending to study abroad here, perhaps? I'll break this up by entries.
Classes... So, I've been taking classes here since early March - two obligitory courses from CIEE called Chile Contemporaneo and Globalización, and the rest of my classes are taken through the university: Lengua Materna, Etimologias Greco-Latinas en el Español, Literatura Español 3, Coreano 1, and Baile Social. I am perfectly aware that few (if any) of you care about the classes, so just skip this entry if you want to.
Chile Contemporaneo was a two-week introduction to chilean culture and cities and was over by the time we started the classes at La Catolica. In addition to lectures, we went to various locations in Santiago, Valparaiso, and other areas nearby. In Santiago, we visited the office/press of El Mercurio, one of Chile's most widely read newspapers; La Moneda; El Museo de Arte Precolombino; the cathedral near la Plaza de Armas; the market and La Chascona, one of Pablo Neruda's three houses, in addition to wandering around Providencia, the neighborhood we lived in during our first week in Santiago. In Valparaiso, we went on a tour of the port in a boat, el Museo al Cielo Abierto, La Sebastiana (another Neruda house), and had a general tour of all the buildings of our university, which has different buildings for all the departments spread throughout Viña del Mar and Valparaiso.
Globalization is almost a continuation of Contemporary Chile, but based more in the classroom (two 1.5 - 3 hour lectures by guest speakers each week). We do go on trips as a class as well though. We went to Rabuco, Pucon, and Isla Negra as a group (see pictures on Snapfish). As it is another CIEE class, it is comprised entirely of foreign students, which is unfortunate. Although the lecture topics are varied, they all relate to the theme of... globalization. (Shocking, I know). Right now, we are working on mini-group research projects of our own design and Steph and I are very excited about ours. We're researching the role of women in Chilean culture: how it is changing, how the different generations consider the position of "dueña de casa" (housewife) in terms of influence within the family, the aspirations that younger women have for their futures, and the prevalent ideas regarding the "proper" role for women today versus, say, 50 years ago. We're getting a bit overzealous with this, since we only have a month to do the entire project, which is supposed to culminate in a 3-5 page paper and our project proposal was already 4 pages long... But we're really interested in the topic, especially in connection with the upcomming presidential elections... For those of you who aren't paying attention, the two frontrunners in the presidential race are women and one, Michelle Bachelet, is a single mother (by choice), who is currently the favored candidate. There was a televised debate between the two about a week ago in which a FEMALE reporter asked why the husband of Soledad Alvear, the other candidate, wasn't present, Alvear responded by saying that it was a chauvanistic question that should not have been asked. Anyway, other classes...
Lengua Materna ("mother language") is my favorite class by a long shot. It's a requisite first-year course for students intending to become teachers of Castellano and is mainly an intensive linguistics course on the morphological, semantical, and sintactical aspects of spanish grammar. Next on the list of favorite classes, we have a tie between Greco-latin word roots in Spanish and Korean 1. I am the only gringa in both classes, which I rather enjoy, but I get to learn two new alphabets in additional to the introduction into Latin, Greek, and Korean.
Spanish Literature 3 is an interesting class, but about half of the students are foreign and we don't cover all the material (about 3-4 books per test) before taking the test - we tend to discuss one author and then throw together our own conclusions about the others. But we get to do individually designed research papers in this class too, so I approve of it.
Finally, the dance class rocks. Twice a week, we meet up in the basement of the engineering building to learn salsa (and merengue). With the exception of Jorge, the "professor" (he's also a Chilean student at our university), the class is all gringos. We've also gone out together to go dancing in Valpo, which was very fun. We went out to Aché Havana, which is way better than Puerto Bahia, where we went with Héctor, Juan Pablo, et al a few times. So, we'll be repeating that trip quite a bit in the remaining few months. Overall, classes are going very well.
09 April 2005
Travel: Chiloé and Cerro la Campana, Chile
Travel... In addition to the initial week in Santiago and then exploring Valparaíso and Viña, we've gone to Isla Negra, Rabuco, Temuco, and Pucon with the CIEE program, and to Chiloe and Cerro La Campana on our own.
I went to Chiloe with Martha, Steph, and Carrie during the first week of April, which was Semana Nevata/ Semana Mechona (freshman week in which classes are suspended in favor of parties and hazing-like activities aimed at the first year students). Funny story (not really, actually), but since the Pope died on the Friday we left, they decided on Monday to suspend the weeks activities and... reinstate classes. I missed the logic on that one, especially since the following week they suspended classes for the "actual" Semana Novata. As of now, the logic employed by the Catholic universities evades me.
Regardless of the non-vacation status of our trip, it was a lot of fun. Chiloe is an archipelago about 16 hours south of Valparaiso by bus. We spent our first two days in Dalcauhue, a town on the coast of the main island. Besides wandering around, we also went to the Sunday market, where venders come from all over Chiloe to sell jewelry; hand-made wool blankets, ponchos, scarves, hats, gloves, etc.; cheese; and random touristy souveneirs, such as miniature wooden churches, hand painted chess boards, and books about Chilote folkore. From Dalcauhue, we visited Achao on one of the smaller islands for a day. We went to see a really old wooden church that was actually closed, but the very nice French priest who lived next door opened it for us and told us about the history of the church (possibly the oldest entirely wooden church in the world). It then started pouring rain, so we went to a restaurant to wait out the weather (and have delicious seafood soup), and almost got stranded in Achau. When we crossed to Achao on the ferry, the ferrymen said that the ferry would be running until 11:30 at night and we assumed that that meant it would also be possible to GET to the ferry at that time. After finishing our food, we asked our waitress where we could find a micro to return to the ferry and she told us that they were a block away, but that they stopped running at 7 pm. We looked at our watches to discover that it was already 7:30, so we started to get a bit worried. The owner of the restauraunt told us that we could not hitchhike back because (1) no one would be driving at this time and (2) it is too dangerous for a group of women to do that. Instead, she called her husband from the country to come to drive us 27 km to the ferry. She did this for four foreign students that just happened to land in her restauraunt. Of course we paid gas money, but we were amazed by and very greatful for the assistance. I can't really picture that kind of behaviour in larger cities...
We also spent time in Castro, the large, inland city on the main island, Cucau, in the eastern end of the main island, Chonchi, towards the south, and Puerto Montt, a large city on the mainland to the north of Chiloe. The highlight of Castro was probably the hostal that we stayed at - Hostal Cordillera, in case any of you students go to visit Castro - the owners were extremely friendly and sweet, and the other students there were interesting. Since we stayed for a few nights, we met various groups that were also staying there - a group of students from Israel the first night, who were unfortunately not easy to communicate with, since only one of them spoke Spanish, and they didn't speak English well enough to converse. The second night, we met a French couple (who spoke Spanish), who we ran into in Cucau and with whom we ended up travelling to Puerto Montt (by accident, but it helped for scoping out bargains in hostals), and the third night, we met a nice Swedish couple (who did not speak Spanish, but spoke perfect English). They were really quiet, so I think we may have traumatized them with our loud Americanness, but they claimed that this was not the case. In Cucau, we spent a couple days exploring the national park along the coast, which was beautiful although we were soaking wet by the end of it. We stayed in Hotel Zimmer (definitely our splurge of the trip, but another suggestion for anyone who goes to Cucao), a small Hostal owned by a really sweet German lady. She and her husband talked to us a lot about the national park and showed us pictures from their trips in the area. We were the only people staying there, so whenever we were in the main eating area (like after our trip to the national park, when Martha and Stephanie and Carrie were soaked and had to dry all their clothes by sitting near the furnace), she would come out and talk to us and give us hot chocolate and kuchen. She also had a really contagious laugh, and seemed to find us amusing, so we laughed a lot for our two days there.
A couple weeks ago Martha and I went to Cerro La Campana, a "hill" (I would say small mountain, but to each his own) about two hours or so away by train or micro. We woke up at 7:00 in the morning on Saturday to catch the 7:30 train to Limache and started hiking at about 9:45 in the morning. The trail itself is 7 km long to the top, with an average grade of 20%, and it was a beautiful sunny day, so there were other hikers there as well. The entire hike (to the sort of top and back, since we lost the actual trail at the top in the giant expanse of loose rocks) took about 6 1/2 hours and we didn't get back into Valparaiso until about 10 pm. The hike was absolutely gorgeous, though. For the lower part, there were many trees, most of which were starting to change colors (because it's fall here), and the leaves were falling onto the trail and the sky was a bright, clear blue and it was just beautiful. There were parts that were exposed, dry, and rocky between the tree-covered portions, as well as some small caves (with foxes!) and lizards. Towards the top, the trees started to thin out and we could see the other cerros as well as the valley towards the coast, and in the uppermost parts of the hike we could see across the other hills to the (snow-covered) Andes. The pictures, I'm sorry to say, do not do justice the the beautiful views that we had on this hike, so you'll just have to believe me that it was absolutely amazing. The top of the hike was also the most difficult, as the trail became ambiguous and we had to basically scramble over a bunch of loose rocks while trying to figure out where exactly we were supposed to be going. Of course, on the way back down, it was easy to see which parts would be easiest to pass over and where the trail should be. Go figure.
I went to Chiloe with Martha, Steph, and Carrie during the first week of April, which was Semana Nevata/ Semana Mechona (freshman week in which classes are suspended in favor of parties and hazing-like activities aimed at the first year students). Funny story (not really, actually), but since the Pope died on the Friday we left, they decided on Monday to suspend the weeks activities and... reinstate classes. I missed the logic on that one, especially since the following week they suspended classes for the "actual" Semana Novata. As of now, the logic employed by the Catholic universities evades me.
Regardless of the non-vacation status of our trip, it was a lot of fun. Chiloe is an archipelago about 16 hours south of Valparaiso by bus. We spent our first two days in Dalcauhue, a town on the coast of the main island. Besides wandering around, we also went to the Sunday market, where venders come from all over Chiloe to sell jewelry; hand-made wool blankets, ponchos, scarves, hats, gloves, etc.; cheese; and random touristy souveneirs, such as miniature wooden churches, hand painted chess boards, and books about Chilote folkore. From Dalcauhue, we visited Achao on one of the smaller islands for a day. We went to see a really old wooden church that was actually closed, but the very nice French priest who lived next door opened it for us and told us about the history of the church (possibly the oldest entirely wooden church in the world). It then started pouring rain, so we went to a restaurant to wait out the weather (and have delicious seafood soup), and almost got stranded in Achau. When we crossed to Achao on the ferry, the ferrymen said that the ferry would be running until 11:30 at night and we assumed that that meant it would also be possible to GET to the ferry at that time. After finishing our food, we asked our waitress where we could find a micro to return to the ferry and she told us that they were a block away, but that they stopped running at 7 pm. We looked at our watches to discover that it was already 7:30, so we started to get a bit worried. The owner of the restauraunt told us that we could not hitchhike back because (1) no one would be driving at this time and (2) it is too dangerous for a group of women to do that. Instead, she called her husband from the country to come to drive us 27 km to the ferry. She did this for four foreign students that just happened to land in her restauraunt. Of course we paid gas money, but we were amazed by and very greatful for the assistance. I can't really picture that kind of behaviour in larger cities...
We also spent time in Castro, the large, inland city on the main island, Cucau, in the eastern end of the main island, Chonchi, towards the south, and Puerto Montt, a large city on the mainland to the north of Chiloe. The highlight of Castro was probably the hostal that we stayed at - Hostal Cordillera, in case any of you students go to visit Castro - the owners were extremely friendly and sweet, and the other students there were interesting. Since we stayed for a few nights, we met various groups that were also staying there - a group of students from Israel the first night, who were unfortunately not easy to communicate with, since only one of them spoke Spanish, and they didn't speak English well enough to converse. The second night, we met a French couple (who spoke Spanish), who we ran into in Cucau and with whom we ended up travelling to Puerto Montt (by accident, but it helped for scoping out bargains in hostals), and the third night, we met a nice Swedish couple (who did not speak Spanish, but spoke perfect English). They were really quiet, so I think we may have traumatized them with our loud Americanness, but they claimed that this was not the case. In Cucau, we spent a couple days exploring the national park along the coast, which was beautiful although we were soaking wet by the end of it. We stayed in Hotel Zimmer (definitely our splurge of the trip, but another suggestion for anyone who goes to Cucao), a small Hostal owned by a really sweet German lady. She and her husband talked to us a lot about the national park and showed us pictures from their trips in the area. We were the only people staying there, so whenever we were in the main eating area (like after our trip to the national park, when Martha and Stephanie and Carrie were soaked and had to dry all their clothes by sitting near the furnace), she would come out and talk to us and give us hot chocolate and kuchen. She also had a really contagious laugh, and seemed to find us amusing, so we laughed a lot for our two days there.
A couple weeks ago Martha and I went to Cerro La Campana, a "hill" (I would say small mountain, but to each his own) about two hours or so away by train or micro. We woke up at 7:00 in the morning on Saturday to catch the 7:30 train to Limache and started hiking at about 9:45 in the morning. The trail itself is 7 km long to the top, with an average grade of 20%, and it was a beautiful sunny day, so there were other hikers there as well. The entire hike (to the sort of top and back, since we lost the actual trail at the top in the giant expanse of loose rocks) took about 6 1/2 hours and we didn't get back into Valparaiso until about 10 pm. The hike was absolutely gorgeous, though. For the lower part, there were many trees, most of which were starting to change colors (because it's fall here), and the leaves were falling onto the trail and the sky was a bright, clear blue and it was just beautiful. There were parts that were exposed, dry, and rocky between the tree-covered portions, as well as some small caves (with foxes!) and lizards. Towards the top, the trees started to thin out and we could see the other cerros as well as the valley towards the coast, and in the uppermost parts of the hike we could see across the other hills to the (snow-covered) Andes. The pictures, I'm sorry to say, do not do justice the the beautiful views that we had on this hike, so you'll just have to believe me that it was absolutely amazing. The top of the hike was also the most difficult, as the trail became ambiguous and we had to basically scramble over a bunch of loose rocks while trying to figure out where exactly we were supposed to be going. Of course, on the way back down, it was easy to see which parts would be easiest to pass over and where the trail should be. Go figure.
14 March 2005
Introduction: Valparaíso, Chile
Before I continue, I want to warn the readers that my abilities in English are deteriorating by the day, so please excuse horrible spelling; poor use of grammar; and, as this continues, a complete lapse into Spanish (and not only Spanish, but the Chilean version. I will try to keep you up to date on the slang). Buy your dictionaries now while they are cheap. And by all means e-mail or send messages in English or German so that I am not completely screwed when I leave Chile.
So, the first few weeks here have been great. I haven't been able to upload my photos yet, but rest assured, you might see them at some point in the very distant future. Maybe.
We spent the first few days in Santiago, Chile before moving on to Valparaíso. Most of the 33 students (10 of which are from LC) in the program live in neighboring Viña del Mar, but I live in Valparaíso (Valpo). It is absolutely lovely here. The hills (cerros) rise up from the water and everyone has a view of the sea. For instance, we watched the Esmeralda leaving port from our house yesterday afternoon. Quite lovely. We take micros (little buses) to get to Viña and to our classes. During the evening, going from one city to the next, you can see all the hills of Viña and Valpo surrounding the slight bay of the ocean and the boats and houses are lit up and it's just beautiful. I kind of really love it here.
The beaches are mainly in Viña and, more towards the north, Reñaca (very touristy), and Viña is quite remeniscent of Santa Cruz near the boardwalk at times. Very busy, touristy, with a huge mall nearby. The hills, however, are much quieter and purely residential, not counting the tiny stores run out of the front room of people's homes and the small produce mercados.
The most striking aspect of the cerros here is the abundance of stray dogs. They are all over the place, pretty much as common as squirrels in the US...except about 20 times as large and much louder. I'm still getting used to seeing them all over the place.
On a different subject, the people (for the most part) here are great. Within our CIEE program, I'm close friends with three other students, Martha and Carrie (both from Oberlin), and Stephanie (from University of Minnosota). My host family includes Adela, my host mom, Hernán, my host dad, and Carlos, my host brother. Adela and Hernán are 72 and 80, respectively, and Carlos is 33. It's definitely a different setting than I'm used to (ie young parents and a younger sibling), but they're all really great, welcoming, and fun to talk to. Carlos' sister, Jenny, and 3 closest friends are over often and are also very interesting and friendly.
Hmm, as for Chilean aquaintances, I just started classes last week and do not know many of the students very well (at all), but we ('we' being an abreviation for 'we four gringas') have gone out dancing (yay salsa!) hung out/carreteado a few times with Juan Pablo, Ramón, Bob the Builder (nickname, not given), Estephania, and Marian (technically german, but has been here for over a semester), who are los amigos del pololo (Héctor) de la 'hermana' de Stephanie (friends of Héctor, the boyfriend of stephanie's host sister). So, we are branching out. Sort of.
I have to go to class now, but I will continue updates later.
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